Legacy - An Overwatch Fan Short
by Chemiclord
Summary: A story told somewhat in the style of Blizzard's animated shorts, detailing how I'd handle the introduction of an iconic character within the world's lore.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: I put this together in my spare time manning my part of the MegaTokyo booth at Youmacon, having watched Sombra's short. This is certainly no attempt to create Overwatch lore, of course, but sort of a "how I would do this" sort of thing._

 _I hope you like it._

" **Legacy" - An Overwatch Fan Short**

"Numbani has devolved into chaos, as human and omnic tensions have finally reached a boiling point. Numbani Police are overwhelmed trying to contain the infighting between omnics and their supporters against anti-omnic insurgents."

 _I knew this time would come. Only a fool would have thought this island of peace wouldn't eventually be hit by the tsunami._

"Reports of independent forces trying to keep the peace match records of former Overwatch agents, but even they are not enough in number to squash the violence as it spreads throughout the city."

 _Overwatch, helping the people of Africa._ _ **There's**_ _a first. But like always, they're still only people. They can't be everywhere. They can't do everything. I understand that. My grandfather understood that. My father didn't._

"The Moroccan Military are preparing to converge if the violence begins to threaten the greater country as a whole, which seems more a matter of when as much as if."

 _It's time._

I turn off the television mounted in the southwest corner, and silently declare my intentions to Booku, the omnic mechanic that I had partnered with for my business. It knows. I hadn't had it help me in my secret project, because I knew how it could be received and I didn't want to put the poor thing in harm's way having to acknowledge that it had helped... but it was aware of my workings. That it did nothing to report me or stop me, despite the legacy my family held, had been reinforcement that I had been doing the right thing.

I tap in a eight digit code on a mechanical keypad on the north wall of my shop in Numbani. Ostensibly, I do machining for automobiles, bikes, buses, occasionally delicate military vehicles... you name it, I service it.

But that eight digit code; signifying the day, month, and year of the end of the Omnic Crisis, opens up a lower level of my shop where I've done a little bit more on the side.

 _Savior. That's what they call my grandfather, Adhubu Ngumi. The man who nigh singlehandedly saved Africa while the rest of the world worried about their own omnic problem. It was my grandfather who developed the first gauntlet and managed to overwhelm the Cape Town God AI, Gamab. It had cost him his life in the process, and that sacrifice was revered throughout the whole of the continent._

 _We had always been a little behind the developmental curve, and as a result had been the worst prepared to handle the God AI's when they went rampant and turned on humanity. But while the "first world" mostly rallied together to help each other, our appeals for aid went ignored._

 _Scourge. That was the name the first world gave to my father, Akinuide Ngumi, a man who had not forgotten how the first world had turned its back on us. So when Overwatch came to Africa to "help" us maintain the peace, their corporate interests in tow, my father understandably took offense._

 _He metaphorically and literally drew the line in the Moroccan sand, and issued what he called the Ngumi Doctrine. First World influence would not be welcome here. Africa had been used and abused too long by the outside world. It was bad enough it plagued Egypt, he had said, it would go no further._

 _Like most extremists, my father was right **and** wrong. Both Gamab and Anubis in Egypt presented continued threats that the people of Africa could not contain on our own. But at the same time, that defiant stand itself slowed first world appropriation, and in a way shaped the careful, measured environment that made the peaceful existence in Numbani possible._

 _For a time, at least._

It's three flights of stairs to the sub-basement level. Unlike the garage, which looked every part of a disheveled, everything-in-its-proper-if-odd place, the sub-basement was ordered to the point of sterility. Everything accounted for, everything always maintained. It needed to be. I wasn't working on just a machine or a computer. I was working with something unique, something that was both... yet at the same time neither.

 _Much like the men who had wielded its predecessors in the past._

The mechanics ran off of as few computerized parts as possible, which was why in the past the gauntlets had been so massive. Mechanical components that were also strong enough to take a beating normally meant tremendous size and weight.

Hence why my forefathers looked like something chiseled from solid rock. I'm not quite _that_ built. I don't need to be. New metallurgy, new techniques and technology allow my gauntlets to be much thinner and not nearly as bulky, yet just as effective as anything my father and grandfather used... if not more so.

So much so that I can use two of them.

New fabrication precision also allowed for the fingerprint sensors inside the gauntlets so that only my hands would activate them, physically nigh imperceptible grooves cut into the gauntlet itself, so that you couldn't even reprogram them to different hands even if you wanted to and had the means to do it.

Not that it would feel particularly comfortable trying to use them even if you could. They're sized for me, after all. No fancy self-fitting technology on these beauties. If I change, I have to change the gauntlets to fit physically, which in many cases means a complete rebuild.

It's easier to just maintain a specific diet.

"N...na... dmi... you... have v... v... visitors..."

Booku's broken voice transmitted into my earpiece. I was expecting company, but I had thought that Booku would be smart enough to let me handle it. If either of those three had went out of their way to harm the omnic... there was going to be even _more_ hell to pay than what I had been planning to begin with.

I knew any one of the trio could act quickly, so I had already spun my right gauntlet about, expanding into it's shield state. Even a centimeter of the special amorphous alloy in the gauntlet could stop an anti-tank missile, much less the spit from a SMG.

"Nice reaction time, boy," Sombra complimented, charging and slapping her hand over the gauntlet where my wrist was, "But what's yours is mine!"

I'm sure Sombra had experienced hundreds if not thousands of scenarios where she merely needed to touch an object for her special cocktail of malware to take hold of any sophisticated piece of computerized weaponry. But the computer cores of my gauntlets were completely disconnected from any grid. It had no ability for wireless access or even detection. They could only be reprogrammed though a proprietary connection port that was made specifically for each gauntlet.

It had been my grandfather's rather low-tech solution to what had been a high-tech problem. Sombra was no doubt a skilled hacker, but she wasn't even close to the peer of a God AI, which was what the highly isolated systems had been designed to resist.

And Sombra discovered this far too late. "What in..." she mumbled, awestruck, preparing to slap her hand down again in disbelief before I cuffed her across the temple with enough force that she left her feet and crashed into the west wall. Perhaps mercifully, I doubt she'd feel that impact until she woke up later.

I couldn't afford to let my guard down, as I know what's coming next. I bring my shield up again to stop the roar of close range shotgun blasts that were not exactly placed to disable.

"Reyes," I said simply.

The man known as Reaper huffed. "Aww... so the little boy knows some names. Am I supposed to be intimidated by that?"

He shifted into his wraith form, no doubt to try and get behind my defenses. A compression wave formed by my left gauntlet basically created a wall of air that could even stun a man broken down into a gaseous mist. As Reaper congealed back into his default state, I used my left hand to grab him by the head, cracking his mask in my grip.

"No," I answered, "I expect you to be intimidated by _this._ "

At which point I slammed him repeatedly into the floor so hard that I left a web of cracks and four indentations. If he's lucky, he won't remember what happened. If _I'm_ lucky, he'll remember _all_ of it.

I collected both villains, dragging them out of my business. Thankfully, Booku seemed to be in one piece as it steps out from its hidden alcove as it hears my approach. "You are well. Did my warning make it through the woman's scrambling?"

"Enough of it," I said. "I know I shouldn't be asking this of you, but there's still a lot of chaos out there, and having a set of eyes monitoring it would be useful."

"Say no more. I would be honored to assist."

"Even if it could get you in a whole heap of trouble?"

The omnic pointed outside, where the smoke from fires in the distance was starting to cloud the air. "Like the trouble out there?"

I grinned, duly corrected. "Point made."

"I'll open a port I reserved for just such a circumstance," Booku delcared. "No worries, I've never connected it with anything inside, even myself. I'll have to operate it manually."

There's a reason why I liked that fellow. Or girlie. I don't know, it seems insulting to give it a gender neutral noun, but at the same time, giving it a male or female pronoun also seems insulting. Booku's claimed it doesn't care one way or the other, but I still don't like committing to something inaccurate.

"What will you do with them?" Booku asked, pointing down at the lifeless pair I was still dragging alongside me.

I hadn't killed them, mostly because while they were boorish and generally terrible... they weren't exactly _wrong_ either. The entire human/omnic problem still remained, and the heart of those conflicts were still out there. Shackles only worked for so long... a more permanent solution needed to be found.

"I'm going to leave them outside," I declared dismissively. "With the gauntlets now complete but out of their reach, they aren't going to stick around."

Of course, I knew that the third member of their trio was waiting. I planned for her action too.

Normally, the gauntlets don't have enough power to operate at the same time. To use the offensive capabilities of my left side, I have to disable the defensive abilities of my right. But for short periods of time, I can overcharge the system to get the best of both worlds.

I do so as I step outside my garage, dropping both of my earlier attackers right at the landing. Widowmaker's shot clangs harmlessly off the resistant metal that wrapped around my body. I needed that first shot so that I could calculate where she was, snapping around and raising my left hand as the ceramic shell momentarily parted to reveal the magnetic rails of the personal rail gun mounted to the forearm of my left gauntlet.

It was a remarkable weapon, if I do say so myself. Capable of short bursts of five rails, something normally a rail gun would overheat too quickly to do, or in this case, one highly accelerated bolt that could hit with uncanny accuracy at remarkably long range.

It's why my shot ripped Widowmaker's rifle to what amounted to twisted scrap metal without doing much more than do some decent damage to her right shoulder. "When you feel ready to come down here, pick up your trash," I shout as the gauntlets revert to their normal operating status and begin to recharge.

"Nnmadi, I am picking up a report of a stolen police mech on Rou Soumaya, a half mile away. That seems to be the closest incident to us," Booku advised, again coming in over my earpiece, even though I could also hear him from his position back at his alcove.

"Then to Rou Soumaya I go!"

One day I should probably design some boots or something to increase my speed, though both my father _and_ grandfather found difficulty moving effectively with greaves that had been built for that purpose. I had thought about rollerblades like I had seen Lucio use, but my balance was bad enough without roughly twenty-five total kilos of weight latched to my arms.

For now, hoofing it was the best option.

 _I remembered when my father asked for me in his last days. He had kept his distance from me for most of my life, mostly because he knew what was in store for him and the entire continent following his angry declaration that outsiders would be met with force. So being asked for was certainly out of the norm. I had been just a teenager, resenting how he had left me and mother behind in Numbani, become a world-infamous villain while he fought what everyone knew was a hopeless war right on the heels of the previous hopeless war._

 _I was brought before him, ready to give him a piece of my mind. But when finally face to face with the man who had helped give me life, I was rendered speechless by the sadness in his eyes. He had regretted having to leave so much of his family behind, how much it hurt him to know what the world said about him. If he had left one legacy, it was that no one attached him to his wife and his only son._

 _His last words to me were that whether I would be savior, or scourge, that he would be proud of me. And whatever choice I made with my life, to take it with conviction and never sway from it, no matter what the world had to say._

I arrived on the scene right, as the idiom goes, in the nick of time. As Booku had said, a man most definitely not a member of Numbani's Riot Police Force was operating one of the unit's mechs, and was preparing for what would be a punch capable of killing near anything in its path. I intercept the mech's fist with my left hand, stopping it cold, much to everyone's surprise but mine.

 _Savior. Scourge. In truth, it was always a little of both, depending on your perspective and your goals. My grandfather had truly been the savior of humanity in Africa, but at the cost of many innocent omnic lives, which he considered nothing more than machines that deserved to be junked._

 _My father had been the scourge of the first world until his death, but his actions resisting the corporate interests hiding behind the heroes of Overwatch borne tremendous benefits for the balance and prosperity the continent had in the present day._

 _But I choose neither. I choose my own path. I will be the Defender._

I spared myself the time to look behind me at what would have been the man's victims. Three omnics, huddled in the corner with fright. They saw the gauntlets on my arms, and know what they represent. I could tell they were afraid.

"It alright." I assured them as gently as I could. "I'm here to help."

 _A defender for all._

I ripped the mech's arm straight off, and used that limb as a club, smashing the mech's left side, cracking the canopy and effectively disabling it. I then tore away said resistant glass, and pulled the occupant out onto the street.

"Get out of here," I growled. "Don't even _think_ of hurting _anyone_ , human or omnic. I _will_ find you if I have to."

He stumbled to his feet, sprinting to the north as fast as his legs could carry him. In truth, I'd never be able to track down one person in all this chaos, but it was important for him to _think_ I could and would.

I hear the click of a rifle being readied, and I identify it for the warning it was meant to be. I turn my head to see the silvery haired man in tactical goggles and horribly garish combat fatigues holding at the other side of the street.

I knew _of_ the man, much as I knew of most of the original members of Overwatch. My grandfather had respected his work, even as it had rarely ever moved outside of Egyptian borders. My father loathed him for much the same reasons.

"Morrison," I said in greeting. In truth... I rather _was_ using proper names in the hopes that it would put many of these heroes off guard.

"I see your father told you a great deal," Morrison said guardedly, his head tilting down towards the gauntlets on my arms. I can almost see the indecision whirling through his mind as he tries to figure out what I'm about, and what my angle is.

Let him wonder. While I may not resent the man now calling himself Soldier 76, I won't forget that when he needed to do the right thing during the Omnic Crisis in Africa, that he let politics rule the day just like everyone else.

"Enough," I replied cryptically, readying my right arm to shield myself if need be. If he wants to be an ally, that's fine. But I'm more than ready if he wants to be an enemy.

Instead, Morrison stands down. "If you're here to help, Tracer and Winston tell me there's a mob steadily approaching an omnic temple two blocks down. You're welcome... to join me... en route."

I snort. I'll be an ally. I _won't_ be an asset. "How about _you_ join _me?_ This is _my_ home. _I'll_ be the one in charge of protecting it."

Morrison chuckled at that, surprisingly. "Very well, kid. Lead on."

"The name's not 'kid'," I warned. "It's Nnamdi Ngumi. I am the Defender."

I let the next line hover in the air, as I don't want any doubt as to the legacy I'm carrying on. I represent a continent that is tired of being used when it is convenient, and forgotten when it isn't.

"I am Doomfist."


	2. Chapter 2

_Author's Note: As I have a little bit of time between draft submission and the editorial process kicking back fixes for me, I decided to expand on this story a little bit. I don't entirely know why, because I have no idea when I can do more (not to mention all those other unfinished stories in my profile _). I'm a terrible person._

"Nnamdi, I have made some observations," Booku offered as I took off as fast as I could behind Soldier 76.

As it is, I'm having a hard enough time keeping up with Morrison, and so my reply is a short and breathless, "Go on," while I try not to be embarrassed by the fact that is old man is outrunning me.

"There are several hubs of activity that seem to be central operations for the anti-ominic rioters," my business partner continued, "Five of them from what I can detect. However, considering the coordination involved, it is extremely unlikely that we have five independent cells in operation. If I was able to get human or omnic eyes on those sites, we can hunt down the central operations and cripple the resistance."

"One... step... at a... time... Booku," I tell him through gasps of breath. "What are we going to be looking at once we jump onto Unity Mainway?"

"Oh. I have identified one hundred and twenty-seven units, including seven Brahman A-A17 tanks that appear to have been taken from the local militia base. Reports suggest they were taken by militiamen on site."

"Great... trained... soldiers... with... tanks," I grumble. I call out to Morrison, "And _how_ many... agents do... you have... protecting the temple?"

"Two," Morrison confirmed. "I've called in some connections, cashed in on some old favors, and there's reinforcements on the way, but it might be some time."

"Then... let's buy them... that time... shall we?"

Morrison chuckled, "You read my mind, kid."

"I've... told you... already..."

"Tell ya what? Beat me to the site, and I'll stop calling you kid."

Bastard.

I didn't even come close to beating Morrison to the temple, but I'd like to think he wasn't going to bring it up too much after I punched a tank off its course of turning one of his operatives into a very unflattering red smear across the highway.

That must be Tracer, as I highly doubt the girl was named Winston. I don't have much information on Overwatch's younger members, and it's a gap I am going to have to rectify if I want to keep them under proper oversight.

"Wicked..." she gasps in amazement, "That was bloody amazing!"

I don't have time to respond, having to deploy my shield to stop a hail of gunfire and one tank-fired shell. "I can't return fire while in defensive deployment!" I shout back. "Some cover fire would be handy!"

"No can do, love," Tracer replies, "Chronometer's gotta recharge. I think I overdid it a bit there."

This is not what I'd call an ideal situation. When I'm braced like this, I am a nigh indestructible wall... at least to everything directly in front of me. But it makes me easily flanked, and I doubt over one hundred trained soldiers will need very long to figure that out.

Fortunately Morrison and Winston, the hyper-intelligent gorilla, provide some support. I don't spare much time to look at Winston, but there's a part of me that immediately feels for him. People of my color were often considered "apes" or "monkeys" by people of the first world through a long stretch of human history. I can only imagine how some of this world treat a _real_ ape with peer intelligence.

Winston and Morrison take to my flanks, though Morrison asks, "No chance you can expand that cover of yours is there?"

I scoff. Does Morrison know anything about titanium based amorphous alloys? "It would have spread the material too thin to make it much larger, and thus liable to shatter. You don't want this stuff shattering like Reinhardt's energy shield, I can promise you."

"Alright, then I'll take Tracer back to the temple wall," Winston offered, "Soldier 76, cover me."

"Make it quick. It's not going to be long before they're in hand to hand range, and I don't care how strong any of you are, those numbers will not favor us."

That gorilla could move when his life depended on it, I noted. Definitely important information to have. At least Tracer was safely away. Now the question was how _I_ was going to get out of this mess.

" _Rocket barrage incoming!_ "

I was actually impressed by how quickly I responded, pulling my shield up towards the sound of the shout. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, that wasn't needed, as declared rocket barrage never even came close to hitting me. Either the shooter had incredible aim, which I doubted considering how haphazardly the rockets struck anything that _wasn't_ me, or the rockets had some impressive IFF identification.

Personally, I was more glad that I wouldn't have to foot the bill for the repairs to Unity Mainway. It had not been cheap to construct in the first place. But I supposed beggars couldn't be choosers, it definitely stopped the initial advance, though I suspected there'd be more.

"Good, the cavalry's early," Morrison noted. "Let's move, kid."

And thus, the mad dash for the temple began. Morrison and I were joined by who I assumed had been the rocket man, or woman, more adequately judging from the voice that felt like melted honey down my spine.

"My mother, Torbjorn, and Mercy are already at the temple, bolstering defenses," she said.

I didn't dare look at her, partially because I was focused on getting under cover and partly because I suspected I'd be in real trouble if I did. I didn't have time to turn into a blubbering mess of hormones. Just listening to her talk was bad enough.

"Good. We'll plot our next move once we're secured," Morrison replied as they both started to pull away. Damn it... was I the slowest person on the planet or something?

I covered my lack of speed by turning around, spying a target pushing through the woman's kill zone, and fired a single rail through the incoming tank's main cannon, ripping through it and leaving a mess of twisted metal. At least they'd have to get real up close to do any damage.

Not that the tank would even get that chance. There was a roar of cannon fire from the temple, and two shells that struck with a machine's precision directly into the tank's engine block.

"Hah!" Came a faint shout from the wall, "I told ye my turret could hit dat thing!"

I use that opportunity to get under the relative cover of the outer temple walls. But I already know these walls were not designed to withstand an attack, especially from people bringing heavy firepower. They were designed for aesthetics, not strength.

I need to find out where these rioters are centralized, and quickly before the warzone spreads to this monument to peace.

"'Bout time you joined us," Morrison says gruffly, though I suspect he's teasing.

My vision is immediately filled with the top of a blonde woman's head, her staff swaying in front of my eyes and extremities. I gently nudge her aside, trying not to be insulting because if there is one member of Overwatch I would have no quarrel with, it would be the one known as Mercy. "I'm well, Dr. Ziegler. I would examine Tracer and Winston before anyone."

Winston then jumped forward, shielding me from a still recovering Tracer. With the immediate threat past, the gorilla was now apparently focused on reviving old battles. Morrison quickly shut it down. "Easy, Winston. He's on our side."

Winston was clearly not entirely convinced of that. "For now, maybe."

"For now is all that matters."

Torbjorn made his appearance, hopping down from the top of the wall where he had been maintaining his turret, "Mebbe so, but I'd like to know if that's gonna stay dat way."

Ana Amari spoke next, still settled on top of the wall, scoping out the road leading into the temple. "Worry about that later, Torb. We have more incoming."

I ignore the chatter, as there's far more important things to worry about. "This temple is not built for combat, so we need to set up our defenses quickly. You..." I point to the armored woman who had joined us while my other hand took my cellphone off my belt. "I need you to get to the top of the Financial Tower just down the road then..."

I stop when I realize the fingers in my gauntlet are far too large to work the phone's touchscreen. With a sigh, I throw it to her, and say, "The first quick dial button on the left will connect you to my partner. It will give you the coordinates as well as guide you through the process of accessing the satellites to give us accurate scouting information."

She looks at Morrison, no doubt wondering why she should be listening to me. To Soldier 76's credit, he nods in confirmation, and to her credit the woman wastes no time taking to the skies.

I then address the rest of the gathered heroes. "While... ummm... she..." I stumble because I realize I never bother to get her name, then point upward to indicate who I'm referring to.

"Pharah," Ana offers helpfully, even as her eyes narrow accusingly at me.

I nod graciously, "While _Pharah_ is doing that, we will need to hold the line here. The outer walls may stop small caliber bullets, if our enemies are bringing more tanks, we'll need to intercept them before they can get into range to do any damage."

"My turret can help with that!" Torbjorn boasts.

"I can do significant damage to them as well," I say, "Ana, be on the lookout for any snipers or soldiers carrying heavy munitions. If they're bringing tanks, I can't imagine they won't have access to rocket or grenade launchers."

Ana has already turned her eyes back towards the reassembling force, though acknowledged my orders. "Understood."

"The rest of us will hold position at the main gate. Use the walls for cover if you have to, but don't rely on them. Now, get into position."

It's not the best plan, but its the best I can think of with the limited resources at my disposal. To be fair, if we have to surrender the temple, I'll definitely make that call... but I'd rather preserve the monument for what it is.

To the credit of Overwatch, they fight like lions. Their determination to hold the temple from the attackers rivals mine, a remarkable trait for people who have likely ever visited this place, or possibly even this city as it stands now. I could understand why they gained such a fearsome reputation, and why my father both hated _and_ respected them.

Even the well trained military rioters, with the numbers and firepower advantage, couldn't break our line. I took immense pride in the fact that the second wave hadn't done much than put some bullet holes and loosed some of the clay from the temple's outer walls.

Booku contacted me seconds later after the charge had been repulsed. "Nnamdi, Miss Pharah has most helpfully located what I believe to be the rioters' central command. A lot of communications and computer activity is centered around a basement level warehouse at 1227 Route du Harmonie."

"Have Pharah meet us there, tell her not to engage until we arrive," I order, my mind already contemplating a possible plan. I think I know that particular location, and why the anti-omnic rioters would have chosen that position. It was a fairly defensible and centralized location, chosen as an emergency bunker in case of an attack on the city.

It wouldn't be easy to attack head on. But... maybe they didn't need to.

"Tracer, how's your charge?" I ask.

The british girl hops to her feet, and flashes me a thumbs up, "Good to go!"

"Excellent. You, Morrison, Amari. You're with me. Everyone else, keep holding this position. I have no doubt they will make another charge if they can. Retreat if you must..."

"We won't," Torbjorn said confidently. "We can't."

"Good man. Alright, let's move, and quick. It's a bit of a jog to where we need to go."

And of course, I'm the slowest runner of the group.

Even slower than an old woman.

Clearly, I need to stop skipping leg day.

* * *

As I feared, the Caromai Warehouse was locked down tight. This is definitely not the work of some random rioters. This was an intentional attempt to disrupt the peace in the city. But peeling through the layers of that onion would be the job of the Investigator General. Mine was to stop the immediate violence.

"Are those entrances and walls reinforced?" Pharah asks.

I nod. "Indeed. This was not a spontaneous eruption of animosity. This was a premeditated assault on my city."

"So, what's the plan, kid?" Morrison asks, "I trust you're not expecting us to charge right in the front door?"

I smirk. "That's in fact _exactly_ what I want us to do. I just don't expect _us_ to get much of anywhere." I then point at Tracer, and say, "That's going to be _her_ job."

I hold my hand out to Pharah, and say, "May I have my phone back?"

She complies, and I connect to Booku. "Booku, can you project the blueprints to the Caromai Warehouse for me?"

"Absolutely, Nnamdi," the omnic answers, and reliably my screen is projecting a holographic image of the building in question.

I rotate the image to the south side, and point out what I need of the girl. "There is a secondary entrance on the first floor here. Normally, the basement level is concrete reinforced, except for once place. Right here, through the air ventilation system."

"You expect me to go crawling around through air ducts, love?" Tracer responds skeptically. "I'm not _that_ small."

"Of course not, but you _could_ blow your way through with a strong enough explosive. Even more fortunately, your entry point will be very close to the computer hub and servers where our friends are coordinating their efforts. With the rest of us keeping them busy through the front gate, you shouldn't have much resistance either. And once that command center is out of commission, that will make mopping up that much easier. The Morocco Military might not even need to get involved."

Pharah leans over my shoulder and makes a sound of thoughtful curiosity. "That... would actually work, I think."

Her silky voice in my ear makes me shudder, and I force myself to remain focused. There is _no_ time for _that_.

"Then what are we waiting for?" Ana grumps, imposing herself in front of Pharah.

"When Tracer thinks she's ready to go," I say, "It all rather hinges on her."

Tracer pats her chronometer, and declares proudly, "I'm rearing to go, friends! Lemme at 'em!"

I give her nudge. "Then get going, and make it fast."

"Fast is my thing, love!" she laughs, and sprints through a nearby alley to round about the warehouse.

I address the rest of the group, and order, "Follow my lead."

I immediately supercharge my gauntlets and wade right into what would normally be the death zone. They had smartly cleared everything out in the street to give them good sight lines for any attack, but it would matter little for an attacker encased in hyperalloy armoring. I fire three shots from my railgun, ripping through the barricades and walls, while my allies begin opening fire themselves.

My supercharged state wouldn't last nearly long enough to overpower their defenses, even with support, but it did exactly what I hoped it would do, force the defenders to invest more manpower than they would have wanted to push us back.

I also make one very critical mistake pushing too far, as I'm halfway through No Man's Land when my armoring gives out. While I deploy my shield, it's really not suited for fending off multiple attackers who can easily flank me. I learn this the painful way as one such flanking shot bites into my left shoulder, and I hiss from the pain.

While Pharah and Morrison provide me cover, and a shot from Ana quickly heals the wound, I can't retreat very fast while maintaining my shield, and making a break for it would be suicide.

And then I feel something very heavy drop down a few feet from me, and a thick German voice declare, "Ah ha! Sorry for the lateness my friends!"

Morrison is quick with the snark, "Thanks again for showing up just after the nick of time, Reinhardt."

"No worries!" the hulking German answers, slamming his hammer down to slow the approach of our enemies, then bringing up his own shield to provide further cover as we inch backwards, hoping to lure out the attackers and buy Tracer more time to do her thing.

While Reinhardt's shield has considerably more coverage, it's not as strong, and I know we're not going to have much more time before it fails and we're all in a bad way. Tracer had better hurry.

And the girl answers my prayers. Seconds later, a surprisingly loud explosion rips through the building and shakes it at its very foundation. The panic that followed eased the pressure on us, and allow us the breathing room to push again.

Booku then informed me that the military had arrived at the city limits, and the rout was on...

* * *

Morrison found me as the riots died, and order was restored. His team was at his heels, and I turned away further thanks from the councilwoman that had been reaching the point of absurdity with her thanks to address them.

"Well, it seems things are under control here," he says.

I agree. "So, it seems."

Tracer zips around to my side, clapping me on the shoulder, "Brilliant work! So, ya ready to join us now? We can always use more heroes!"

In the spirit of fairness, I'm not the only one who looks at her like she's lost her mind.

And she quickly realizes this. "Wot? Ya mean the whole Doomfist gauntlet thing? Is that really a dealbreaker?"

I don't exactly push her away gently. "I am a defender of Numbani and the people of Africa. What that means to Overwatch is entirely up to all of you. Your actions today are a great first step, but it is a meager apology for decades of turning your backs."

Tracer protests, "Now wait just a minute..."

It's Morrison who cuts her off, "No, Tracer. He's right." I can see the regret in his eyes, a regret that makes me hopeful that perhaps, just perhaps, we can have warmer relations than my father did. "We'll leave. But if you need anything at all..."

"I know how to get in touch," I finish, then turn back around to return to my shop. I don't even take five steps before Pharah lands ten feet in front of me.

The evening sun catches her perfectly as she takes off her helmet, revealing stunning features on a caramel canvas, with a curtain of shoulder length black velvet for hair.

And now I _know_ I'm in trouble.

I force myself to not look directly into her eyes of dark chocolate, and try to sound aggrieved as I say, "I believe you were ordered to leave."

She looks at me with amusement, and says, "I am actually _not_ a member of Overwatch, if you must know. I am employed by Helix Security International, and merely have... ties... to the group. My employers asked me to make a quick assessment of our assets in Numbani before I returned to Cairo."

"I see."

She gently punches me on the shoulder. "I did want to commend you on your leadership in the heart of the riots. You were remarkably resourceful and quick thinking. My mother probably has good reason to be wary of you. I'm told your father was similarly crafty."

"Your mother?" I grimace as I put two and two together. Fareeha Amari, daughter of Ana. At least that curbs my juvenile infatuation. She's a corporate stooge, Egyptian, _and_ a relative of a prominent Overwatch lackey.

"Be careful. Your father eventually over-stepped his abilities. I'd not want you to meet the same fate, boy."

I scoff defensively. "I'm twenty-eight. I can't imagine I'm much younger than you, if at all."

"Perhaps not in age, but definitely in experience," she retorts knowingly as she puts on her helmet. "Keep safe. If we meet again, I'd rather it not be in the middle of a firefight."

She offers her hand in parting, and I take it for the sake of not insulting her at the very least. It can't hurt to at least be on speaking terms with other capable men and women.

She takes three strides back, then launches. I follow her path until my neck protests, then resume my path to my shop.

"She seems nice," Booku comments in my ear.

"So does the flytrap until it snares its prey," I grumble bitterly, still trying to convince myself harboring any fleeting affections at all was _insane_.

"Shall I close up?"

"No... I'll be in within a half hour. I have no doubt we have some cleanup to do anyway."

Booku acknowledges this. "Indeed, but I must insist you get your rest as well. Like it or not, you've entered a very dangerous and very active world that will require you to be in as peak of physical and mental condition as possible."

"Yeah," I reply in agreement. "That's exactly what I am afraid of."

What have I gotten myself into?

 _Author's Note 2: Don't worry Pharmercy fans! It's just a little crush (even if I thought it could be something more... again, I have no idea when I'd actually be able to entertain it). I mean come on, who doesn't have a little crush on Pharah now and again?_


	3. Chapter 3

I hadn't slept well for the last week.

Or much of the last month.

And it was time to own up to that.

I'm not the most devout Catholic in the world, but I've known Father Adande for years, a consequence of my extremely devoted mother who would pray multiple times a day for God to keep my father safe.

I think the entire world knows how _that_ worked out.

Nonetheless, Father Adande remained a strong moral center for my developing mind, and despite my misgivings about the problems within my _professed_ faith, he was a great font of wisdom as well.

And why I sat myself down on the chair in this confessional booth of his tiny church roughly five kilometers outside of the City of Numbani.

"Forgive me, father, for I have sinned," I say in what I _think_ is the proper opening. It's been a while since I've done this.

Father Adande sounds surprised by my voice. "Nnamdi, is that you?"

I drop my head, and smile ruefully, "Yes, Father Adande."

I see his silhouette through the translucent screen pointing forward, as his tone shift to bemused. "Come around to my office, young man. We'll talk there."

It isn't much more than five steps to the door to his office, and his office isn't much larger. I've told him repeatedly that I was more than willing to do anything from fund an expansion of this church to helping him purchase a larger to purchasing a larger building outright. To this day, he has refused, and I have no desire to press him on the issue today.

Even as we nearly smack our knees together as we sit down in an office that was smaller than my master bedroom's closet.

Father Adande is an older man, his wrinkles hiding some of his stubble of a beard, the white flecks on his brown chin that he neglected to shave matching the ring of short hairs that frame his ears and back of his head. "So... I assume you are not here in regards to sins of the father?"

"No," I confirm shamefully, "These are mine. I've been dealing with... impure thoughts."

"Is that all?" Adande remarks, "Honestly, I would be _more_ worried if a vital young man like yourself _didn't_ gaze lustfully on occasion. Is the girl... or boy I suppose... married?"

"No. _She's_ very single. It's how I came to learn that... well..."

Adande's reply borders on admonishing. "You used your father's eye, didn't you?"

I nod slowly. The "Eye" that Father Adande is referring to was a self-adaptive worm program that he used to infiltrate Overwatch and UN surveillance and intelligence information, giving him a tremendous advantage, often knowing where Overwatch was going to try and strike before even the group's members knew.

It was a worm that remains effective to this day. Booku and I had used it to determine the heart of operations for the anti-omnic forces during the Numbani Riots... and I had used to follow and watch Fareeha Amari going about her day to day business.

"Why?" Father Adande asks.

"Because she lives in Cairo, and I thought I would simply use it to get some background information. Then I started using it for more."

"Did you use it to look in on this woman while she was... indecent?"

I shake my head emphatically. I'm not even sure such peeping would even be _possible_. That would require some remarkably well placed cameras and... gah! "No! I was not _that_ craven. But the thought that I could... worried me, and the fear that I might succumb to such base urges is what brought me here."

Father Adande nodded, "Your father's eye was a weapon of necessity that not even _he_ liked using because of the potential for abuse. I am glad that you remembered that lesson eventually. Though you _must_ adhere to temperance, not just in your lust, but in your power. Through your grandfather, you gained incredible influence. Through your father, you gained incredible resources. I had always worried that the alchemy of the two in someone who grew up without the guidance of either father figure would be frightening."

I droop in shame. Even if I'm not exactly a devout Catholic man, this reprimand stings.

"But... you have always surprised me, even now. That it took you twenty-eight years to even _begin_ to use the tools at your disposal is far longer than I would have thought it would take. And presuming your honesty, that you understand what you were doing was wrong, and stopped took remarkable strength of character. However... I suspect your problem _isn't_ that you used the Eye."

Father Adande knows me too well. I've used the Eye several times, all for reasons I thought were just... until recently.

The priest sighed. "When I was your age, it was hard to fully understand boundaries as to what was acceptable in regards to... romantic affection. We had so many ways to watch people, often without their knowing, and even when the intentions were harmless, the potential for great harm was there. In today's world, it is even worse. And on that score, I'm not sure what advice I have for you that would be of use."

I expected as much. This visit was more to clear my conscience rather than counsel.

"But I _can_ offer one empty platitude. It has been said that if God wills, God provides. If there is a destiny between you and this woman... God will present that opportunity."

That _almost_ makes me reconsider my feelings on prayer.

Almost.

"Thank you, Father," I say as I slowly stand. "Though no matter how little you think you helped, you did."

"Well, I'm glad. Peace be with you, young man, and may Christ watch over you."

I nod, uncomfortable with extending similar religious partings. I leave the church, and decide it's time to get back to work. Synergic Defense has a two hundred million credit contract with my shop to help design and construct a working prototype of the next pulse drive core.

While I already have had a working prototype for a couple years now, I've been leaving most of the modifications for use in the large craft Synergic is looking for for Booku all week. That wasn't fair to my omnic partner, no matter how much it says it's of no concern.

As I cross the parking lot, and remotely engage my car's engine, a glint of blue on the adjoining street catches my eye, another car pulling away abruptly from the side of the road from roughly a kilometer away. I wouldn't normally think anything of it except that I had seen that car four times already over the week and a half. After the third incident, I used the Eye to trace the vehicle and its owner; a company vehicle belonging to Helix Security's office in Numbani.

I'm not terribly surprised by this; in fact I'm surprised that the rise of the third Doomfist wasn't getting _more_ attention from military and security agencies and corporations around the world. I'm not even concerned by the attention. As no African nation outside of Egypt (if you really even want to call Egypt an African nation to begin with) has even been willing to _talk_ with the UN since the Omnic Crisis, there's little any outside agency could do that wouldn't potentially spark a war.

I suppose I can thank the nigh _sainthood_ my grandfather has in Numbani and much of Africa for that.

I take my time returning to the shop, mostly because I want to see if Helix's car is going to show up again. That one doesn't, but a second one that I know belongs to them is parked in a cafe across the street from my shop.

Oh well, let them watch. Not like Booku and I do anything top secret right out on the main shop floor.

Booku seems... devious... as I enter. I'm not sure how I know that just from looking, as it has given me repeated assurances that it has no means of forming facial expressions or other silent queues that would hint me on its mood.

But its words suggest I'm right. "Ah, Nnamdi, what fortuitous timing. This just came over the emergency net seventeen seconds before you arrived."

He plays the message, and my heart skips several beats as I recognize the voice.

 _Mayday... this is Captain Pharah of Helix Security International. I am escorting a relief caravan to the refugees of Cape Town. The convoy was attacked by raiders and we are now crippled. I am requesting any and all aid to 12.12.29 South, 12.52.29 East. I repeat..._

Booku terminates the message, and he looks up at me. I couldn't pinpoint those exact coordinates without a GPS, but I know the general area. Around the coast of the Angolan Wastes, a lifeless, lawless zone stripped bare from the first battles and genocides of the Omnic Crisis.

No agency within range was going to risk that hellscape on a rescue mission.

I don't need to say anything. I sprint to the elevator to grab my gauntlets, muttering to myself, "Where God wills, God provides." Time to be the hero for the enchanting goddess that stole my heart.

From behind me, Booku asks, "Should I prep the McLaren?"

It already knows the answer to _that_ question. It's referring to a McLaren P77 hovercar that has been heavily hacked to provide performance well beyond what would be considered "street legal", most notably the ability to jump to supersonic speeds outside of the designated hyperway systems.

After my gauntlets are snug around my arms, I'm back in the elevator to the floor above, where my McLaren is waiting, the engine already humming with the very pulse drive that Booku and I were using as the base for our contracted work.

The presence of my gauntlets on the arm rests trigger the modifications, and I immediately feel the boost in power. This thing was going to literally take off like a rocket at about three thousand meters the moment the ramp dropped into place.

"Estimations place your arrival at the designated coordinates to be seventeen minutes at top speed," Booku assessed from my earpiece. "Will you be landing or shall we do a drop?"

"Let's do a drop," I say. "There's no guarantee there will be suitable level ground for a hover car in the Angolan Wastes to begin with. Then you can guide it back and retrieve me when I call for you."

"Understood, Nnamdi. Good luck."

My McLaren lunges forward immediately after, and I'm off to be the hero again.

* * *

I groan as the world spins around me. I'm not exactly sure where I am or how I came to be here. I remember completing the drop, just as the bandits launched another attack on the convoy. And this time they had brought some heavies.

Junkrat and Roadhog.

I had actually handled Roadhog quite well. The portly New Zealander was a bit overrated as a "walking apocalypse" as far as I could ascertain. I had dropped him to his knees with one punch to that bulbous belly button of his.

Beyond that... nothing.

Then I hear her voice, stirring me to greater alertness.

That tingling feeling that accompanied her silk voice was more rousing than the finest Ethiopian coffee. "Easy, be still. You are hurt."

I open my eyes fully, my vision clearing, and they are granted the most splendid sight of Pharah's remarkably impressive chest right in front of me. The woman herself is actually leaning over my left shoulder, dabbing at a wound presumably on the back of my neck, the sting of what feels like alcohol ripping my thoughts away from the beauty in front of me.

I hiss from the contact, and she admonishes me with a harsh whisper, "I told you to be still."

I grunt in response, but force myself not to move as she finishes cleaning what could not be a light wound judging from the pain it caused. "What happened?" I ask as she applies what feels like a large adhesive bandage.

She pulls away and glares at me. "You've asked that question three times."

"I have?"

"You've been in and out of consciousness for the better part of seven hours. If you promise to stay awake this time, I will tell you."

She chuckles in spite of herself, and I manage one light snort before my neck throbs from the movement. I cringe, but say, "I think... I'm of reasonably sound mind now, yes."

"You were struck from the proximity of one of Junkrat's grenades, shortly before Roadhog hooked me out of the sky. At that point, we were helpless. We've been taken prisoner by the bandits, though I'm not sure why."

She sees something in my eyes that concerns her, because she points to the top of her nose, and says gruffly, "Look at me. Up here."

I sincerely hope she thought I was woozy and not staring at her chest, those curves amazingly flattered by the form fitting black bodysuit she was wearing. She frowns, and apologizes, "I am sorry, I'm just grumpy that they let you keep your gauntlets while they forced me to strip down. In case you haven't noticed."

Without thinking, my mouth says, "I... was trying not to notice, honestly."

I clench my teeth, but any concerns were dispelled when Pharah emitted a single, bemused chuckle. That's when I realized that I was indeed still wearing my gauntlets, and that my arms had been bound at my biceps behind my back. That was hardly a concern, the strength augmentation my gauntlets provided was more than enough to snap the bonds no matter where they were put on my arms.

"Well, dearie, they didn't take his gauntlets for the same reason you're both still alive."

Pharah spins her upper body around as I look up to see Junkrat and Roadhog on the other side of the rough iron cage Pharah and I were in, presumably in the back section of a large cargo truck owned by the bandits. We weren't moving, which suggested we were either at the bandit's base, or some waypoint for resupply.

"Junkrat, you villain... once I am out of here I'm going to..."

The Australian machinist clicked his tongue in reprimand. "Oi! Such venom for the man who intervened when five of those blokes in the front were going to force ya to strip down even more and entertain themselves with ya."

Pharah snarled, "I would have died first."

"Yah, and when your boyfriend here learned that, he'd've gone straight nuclear on all of us, and that wouldn't be pretty."

"What are you prattling about?" She demanded.

"Livin' and survivin' in the Outback teaches ya some things, girlie, like how to detect radioactive materials. On top o' that, I know a bit about how those previous Doomfist gauntlets work. Your boyfriend here's gloves are powered by polonium batteries... complete with a dead man's switch that makes those batteries go into meltdown. I'm guessin' that if those gloves there stop sensing his vitals... kablooie! Am I right?"

That's not _entirely_ right, but I'd rather not acknowledge that. The more these goons fear me, the better of we are. "Yes."

I regret that Pharah looks at me like I'm a lunatic, but for now, it's for the best. "Never... die." She orders, aghast.

"And why I didn't let you have it square in the back like I could have," Junkrat says to me. "So, the way I see it, ya owe me your life. So how about you let us have the weapons you blokes are shuttling, Roadhog and I get paid, and we let ya both go without any more trouble? Sound good?"

Pharah growls, "You idiot, I have already told you, this convoy has _relief supplies_. Blankets? Food? Medicine? Or do you fools not know what those things are?"

"Oi, I know what _you've_ told us. But the good corporate doggie you are could have been lied to and you wouldn't even think to question it." Junkrat then hums, "But you ain't, are ya, Doomfist? Is that what's in those trucks? Supplies?"

I decide to answer honestly, most because if I play this right, it will be to our benefit. "You know what? I don't know. I was just responding to Pharah's distress call. Why don't you two look and find out? Because I'm rather curious myself."

Junkrat and Roadhog look at each other. The larger man nods, and Junkrat then says, "Maybe we will. To be honest, I'd put it even money these raiders ain't lying themselves. Wanna go have a peek, buddy?"

"Yeah." Roadhog grunts.

The two make their leave, and Pharah immediately turns on me angrily, "Do you think I am _lying?_ "

"No," I answer. "But I wanted to talk to you privately, and seeing their uncertainty helped that scenario along. I assume that Helix will be mobilizing, correct?"

Pharah blushes. "I... this is not a Helix sponsored mission. I volunteered as a guard for this Red Cross mission. They didn't have the money for an air drop, so they tried this very dangerous ground transport. Cape Town is in bad shape, and desperately needs any help it can get."

I know that already. The fallout from my grandfather's war with Gamab reached a climax in that city, and where my grandfather activated the dead man's switch in his gauntlet after successfully isolating the God AI in its main server cluster, destroying it, himself, and damn near a quarter of the city.

The fallout from what was the catastrophic chain fission reaction of a Polonium core had the effect of salting the earth. Millions of people and omnics were affected, and cleanup of the devastated city has been slow.

Pharah then offered with a hopeful tone, "My mother is here, though."

My eyebrows raise. "Is she? Where?"

"I don't know. I just know she is. She always is. In the shadows. Watching."

I'd rather not rely on sentiment as I plan this escape, even if it proves to be true. "Do you happen to know where they've stashed your gear?"

"They only had two trucks, so I goes to reason that it's somewhere in the other one."

I nod, "I can cover you once we make our move. Gear up quickly, and hopefully we'll have a clear escape route or at least a good defensible position in which to bunker down while I call in backup."

" _You_ have backup?" Pharah asked.

I nod. "Not an _extensive_ network by any means, but yes, I could muster up _some_ aid that could arrive here quickly enough." Provided of course that Morrison was serious about Overwatch aid to Africa.

But I left _that_ little qualifier out for obvious reasons.

Then, my ears catch a hint of a wee bit of serendipity in the form of an increasingly louder conversation outside.

"Hey, buddy!" Junkrat shouts, presumably to Roadhog. "Do these look like guns to ya?"

"No," the hulking man replies, "They don't."

"What does it matter?" One of the bandits retorts, "You're going to get paid regardless, so quit flapping your lips and get back to guarding the prisoners."

"Hey, we may be _anarchists_ , but we ain't _monsters_ , and since we don't see any weapons here, my buddy and I think that our little deal is null and void."

The bandit sneered, and I can hear the click of guns going off safety. "How fortunate for us, for that means that we can kill you as well."

Junkrat did not sound intimidated, "Oh, I love it when little worms are stupid, don't you agree, pal?"

And that is my cue to move, easily snapping the ropes binding my arms, and tearing away the bars of our cage as the bullets start flying. I call out, "Let's go!" to Pharah, but the imperative wouldn't have even been needed, as she was damn near out the side door of the truck before I was.

I have my shield up and ready, but it wouldn't have been needed. The whole of the attention was on Junkrat and Roadhog, and honestly, the two renegades were winning. They probably wouldn't have even needed our help, but it certainly didn't hurt once Pharah was geared up and firing her rockets onto an increasingly panicked foe that was realizing just what they were up against.

It was at that point that I learned that Ana was in fact present, as I felt a healing round from her biotic rifle strike me in the back, repairing the damage I had taken from Junkrat's grenade. It was then followed by a standard round that smacked the ground inches from my right foot, followed by another that zipped past my ear when I started to turn in her direction.

Pharah touches down just to my right, and I can feel the heat in her glare as it shoots Ana's way. Meanwhile, Junkrat and Roadhog amble towards us, not looking any the worse for wear, though that was hard to say considering they both looked like they had been trampled by a herd of cape buffalo to begin with.

"Well, that's that, I would say, eh mates?" The junker asks. "Probably be easier for all of ya to just take that truck since all your supplies are in there rather than try to piece together that wreck your people started in."

Pharah, however, doesn't seem nearly as forgiving. "The rest of the convoy has been killed, and attempting to complete the mission as is will simply be inviting a counter attack by these bandits once they discover what has happened here."

I agree, "We need to deal with this raider tribe, or _any_ attempts to get supplies through this area will be a recipe for disaster."

Ana coughs to get my attention, and I look up on top of the rear truck, where she tosses my earpiece to me. "Talk to your partner. It's getting increasingly frantic."

I had completely forgotten about Booku, and that it would be indeed worried once it lost communication with me. So, it is with no small amount of remorse that I apologetically say, "I'm here Booku. I'm fine."

"Oh, splendid. When your communication line was cut off, I immediately forwarded word to Watchpoint Gibraltar. Oddly enough, Overwatch was already aware of the crisis."

I spare a quick glance at Ana, and reply, "Yes, I'm not surprised."

"Winston tells me that they have several agents on the way."

My mind is already spinning at top speed as it hatches a plan. "Tell them to stand down for the moment and wait. We potentially have the element of surprise on our side, and several outside agents landing could stir up a viper's nest before we're ready to handle it. I assume they are coming in by air, so have them circling at high altitude once I get you coordinates."

I can feel Ana's gaze questioning me, but I ignore it. I instead focus on Junkrat and Roadhog, asking them "Do you know where the primary camp for this tribe is?"

Junkrat nods, "Ya bet we do, mate! Not by their intention, of course, but my buddy and I don't do nothin' anymore without knowing all we can know. Ya want those coordinates?"

"Yes." I say, then relay the numbers Junkrat gives me to Booku and then add, "Ask Winston if their agents can hold position until nightfall."

After a moment's silence, Booku comes back with a simple, "Yes."

"Good." I then address Junkrat again, "How do you control your little Riptire?"

He answers, "Remotely, of course."

To be fair, that no doubt sounded initially like a stupid question until I follow it up with, "Does it have the horsepower to pull a cart and two people?"

He tilts his head, "How big of people are we talkin' about here?"

"Pharah and I. Would that cause too much slowdown?"

"Maybe... but that's a problem easily fixed. Whatcha planning?"

Pharah is equally curious, though no doubt for an entirely different reason. "Yes... what are you thinking, Doomfist?"

"Don't worry, Junkrat... you're going to _love_ it," I say assuringly. Then to Pharah I say with a hint of remorse, "You and I... might not love it quite as much."

* * *

"While I know for a fact you can construct some remarkable plans with limited resources, I wish to go on record stating that this is not your best."

She has good reason to think that way. The "cart" isn't much more than a slab of sheet metal with four wheels and two axles "borrowed" from the damaged supply vehicle mounted underneath, tethered to one of Junkrat's Riptires by some welded steel bars.

I deploy my shield, and wedge it into the sheet metal. That should hold perfectly fine for what we need it for. "Just hold onto me, then jump and let the bandits have it with the cover I'm going to provide."

She complies, leaning forward to whisper in my ear, "As I am armored, I doubt this is nearly as pleasing as you were hoping it would be."

Every inch of my male hormones are itching to respond to Pharah's blatant flirting. Even my rational thoughts don't deny it was welcome. But at the same time, there was a job to do. "Furthest thing from my mind," I lie.

And Pharah doesn't buy that for a second, and calls me on it. "Sure it isn't."

Booku interrupts. "Nnamdi, Winston wants to confirm that they are in position and that Junkrat and Roadhog have been temporarily added to their IFF protocols. He put extra emphasis on the word 'temporarily,' I must add."

"That's all I request," I reply. "Tell them to move on my signal, and that they'll know it when they see it."

Junkrat sided up to the cart, and asked, "Are ya both ready?"

I look over my shoulder at Pharah, who sighs and shrugs, then tightens her grip around my waist. "As ready as we'll ever be," I conclude.

The Australian junker grins far too broadly for comfort's taste, then grabs the ripcord of his most destructive creation. "Ladies and gentlemen... start your engines!"

Then he lets the Riptire loose, and it's every bit of my gauntlet's enhanced strength that keeps us on the cart as it lunges forward with far more torque than was necessary.

Quickly our target comes into view. While rather impressively fortified for the Angolan Wastes, on a practical level, the concrete barricades of the bandit camp have many gaps, and more than a handful are plenty wide enough for the Riptire cart to slip through at a tremendously high rate of speed. Due to that speed, the bandits have no chance of stopping or even rousing in time to stop the Riptire from hitting its target, the primary watch tower on the north side of the camp.

The Riptire detonates with more than enough force to blow out the tower's supports and send it toppling. My shield absorbs the force of the impact, though the cart shakes with such force that I stumble. That's fine, however, since Pharah has long since launched herself, finding her preferred targets for her rocket barrage.

Not that "targets" really matter all that much in the equivalent of a one-woman carpet bombing. Her fighting style reflects her personality from what I can tell. It's not dainty or finesse by any means. She's explosive, fiery, and takes no prisoners.

I can't and won't deny I like that.

Meanwhile, I stumble out of the remains of the Riptire cart, and take out two APVs that had finally scrambled in response to our attack, shooting out their engine blocks, then holding off the fire of its occupants until Pharah's rockets turn their way.

Junkrat and Roadhog then enter the fray, providing another flank for the discombobulated bandits to try and defend. That mustering became even more fragmented when Overwatch dropped from above.

A large, pink mech dropped down on the other side of the collapsed tower, and it uncoiled to the declaration of "D'Va online!" before its arm cannons started tearing into anything and everything unfortunate enough to be in their way.

I blink repeatedly, wondering when Overwatch had recruited her.

"Is that D'Va?" Pharah asks over my earpiece, clearly as surprised as I am.

"Probationary member," Ana finally informs. "As Overwatch can't _legally_ increase its roster."

" _Legally_ , Overwatch can't exist at all," Pharah counters.

Three bandit emerge from one of the partially buried bunkers, and while I turn with my shield ready in time, none of them even get a shot in before they are dropped with three rapid bursts from what was one very powerful handgun.

A handgun that belonged to one Jesse McCree.

"Settle down, partners," he drawls, swiftly reloading his Peacemaker and spinning it expertly in his palm before snapping it to the ready and turning like a viper to his right to snipe a charging bandit right between the eyes with a single shot from the hip.

"Wait for it..." a distinctive British voice taunts from behind me, and I rotate as another APV is forcefully disassembled by a blue energy pulse. Tracer then flashes right in front of me with a cheeky smile, "Oi! 'Ello again, Doomfist!" Her eyes drift downward, and she whistles. "Nice pecs. Work out a lot, I take it?"

My eyes follow hers down, and it's only at that moment that I realize that my vest could more accurately be called scraps clinging to my waistband and shoulders. I thank God my skin is so dark and its near night, because I really don't want Tracer to see my embarrassed flush.

I hear Pharah land to my left, and she coughs indignantly. Despite her helmet, I can feel her staring down the British woman. "And what would you know about that? From what I hear, he shouldn't be your type."

Tracer smirks, "Oi, I can still appreciate the architecture even if I wouldn't want to live there, right?"

I'm not even sure I _want_ to understand what conversation is going on here.

Tracer's smirk broadens into a full toothed smile, "Well, we got a bit of a battle going on, so let's get back to it. Cheers!"

She flashes away, and Pharah bumps me on the shoulder with hers. "Stupid girl. I was rather enjoying the view with you being so oblivious."

I am certain that doesn't help the color rising on my cheeks at all. "I really doubt it's all that much to see." Anything further is interrupted as I shield us from an incoming RPG. I more focus on lean muscle mass than the bulk that would make any tone particularly impressive.

She leans forward, and I hear the smile in her voice, "It's impressive enough, and why I couldn't be offended the way you were ogling me back in that cage, as I did my share of sightseeing while you were unconscious. Fair is fair, no?"

I couldn't decide whether that admission was alluring or creepy or both. But she _does_ have a point... I don't terribly have much room to judge.

Although, it does strike me that this is a _very_ odd line of conversation to be carrying on in the middle of a firefight, even if said firefight was rapidly winding down. The surprised bandits despite superior numbers were quickly routed and rounded up, and in doing so, much of the dangers of the Angolan Wastes were curbed with it.

* * *

The Overwatch agents provided an escort to Cape Town regardless, though the escort proved unnecessary. Three days later, the appropriated bandit truck rolled to a stop at the Red Cross checkpoint just outside of Cape Town.

They even assisted Pharah and I with distributing those supplies to the refugees in the camps outside the irradiated city. I can't help but think with the primary bandit tribe in the Wastes crippled that the Red Cross might be able to finally relocate the suffering people to a better life in the north part of the continent.

Well, provided any country would be willing to take them... which was not a bet I'd be willing to take.

So, I don't feel like a particularly great victory was struck as I slump down on a bench at the edge of the checkpoint after the distribution was finally completed. Pharah drops down next to me on my left, and echoes my thoughts out loud.

"All that... and really all we've done is put a bandage on a severed limb."

"It's something," I reply, as much to convince myself as it is to convince her. "That's more than most can say they've done for these people."

"The UN won't even supply aid to this country. It makes me sick."

"They haven't had anything to do with Africa since the Omnic Crisis. If there's nothing you can provide that their lobbyists want, you might as well not exist. It's only recently that they've extended a formal petition for Morocco to rejoin, and only because Numbani has emerged as an economic hub."

"And I understand your country has told them to eat sand."

"Some wounds heal slowly."

She bumped shoulders with me, and said, "On a different note, once again you have impressed me. If you impress me three times, I'm going to have no choice but to reward you."

My eyebrows raise. With the battle over, I find it much harder to ignore this very aggressive flirtation. "And what exactly would this reward entail?"

She clicks her tongue playfully. "No no, I won't ruin the surprise."

Then my mind grinds to a hard stop, and I remember my visit to Father Adande. At the risk of ruining what is building, I can't let this secret fester. "Pharah, I... have to tell you something."

"Is it about the dead man's switch in your gauntlets?"

That _is_ something I should clear the air about, come to think of it. "No... but that's something to clarify too. The dead man's switch is something my grandfather built to keep his gauntlet and technology from falling into Omnic hands. While that switch _does_ exist in these gauntlets, it's something that I have to activate, not something that is always on. My father's gauntlet existed in the same way... which is why you don't see the Numbani crater where _he_ died."

"Good. I was worried you were mildly insane."

I shift the topic of conversation. "But that's not what I wanted to tell you about. Over the course of several days before all this happened... I was watching you."

Her right eyebrow raises, "Oh?"

"Do you remember the program that my partner had you use during the riots in Numbani?" When she nods, I add, "I used that same program to... follow you. I was trying to learn more about you, and I didn't really grasp how incredibly inappropriate I was being. I am deeply sorry for invading your life without your consent."

Not surprisingly, she asks much the same question Father Adande did. "You weren't peeping on me in the shower were you?"

"No!" I insist.

But surprisingly, she responds with an indifferent shrug and, "Hmm. How unfortunate for you. I am quite confident you would have enjoyed what you saw."

Her ambivalence to my admission wasn't at all what I was expecting.

And after a moment's silence, she reveals why. "I suppose in light of that, I need to make an admission as well. Over the course of eleven days before I left on this mission, I managed to recruit several of my colleagues at the Numbani Office of Helix Security to gather information on you. I claimed you were a 'person of interest', though I suspect their definition of 'interest' was a bit different than the one on my mind."

My jaw drops. "So... you were watching me... as I was watching you..."

She nods, and flashes me a bemused smile, "Clearly we think on much the same wavelengths. As before, fair is fair, no?"

"Perhaps, but I think we should be more open in the future regardless."

"Agreed," she says, and offers her hand to solidify that sentiment.

I take it, and then find myself lost in her eyes. I think she's leaning forward, though that could just be my mind playing tricks on me. But before I have a chance to find out, McCree's voice cuts in.

"Pharah, we're all ready to mosey on out of here, and I was asked to offer you a lift back to Egypt, unless your company has arranged something."

She stands swiftly and shakes her head. "They had not, so I am thankful for your assistance."

I stand as well to offer a proper parting, and we share a completely neutral handshake, which is not at all what I would have preferred. She takes several steps to follow McCree, then stops before looking over her shoulder. She starts tapping on a wrist panel of her armor, and says, "If you ever find yourself in Cairo, do more than watch. Call me."

My phone hums, and I pull it out of its belt holster to see a comm number listed on it and the name "Amari, Fareeha."

Perhaps it's a good thing that she's already turned around again, because I must look like a dope with the dumbest grin on my face.

It disappears once I feel a heavy clap on my shoulder, and Junkrat's voice congratulate me. "Good job, mate! She's a real looker, she is! Anyway, our job's done, so I think Roadhog and I should be bustin' outta here before these blokes remember there's a sizable bounty on our heads. Cheerio!"

The stupid grin returns as I hear the two junkers leaving, and disappearing again as I turn to my right where Booku had kindly landed my McLaren an hour before... and find the barrel of a long range rifle pressed just above the point of my nose.

Ana Amari doesn't look the slightest bit happy, though I don't blame her. Even if Pharah didn't hold my actions against me, I doubt her mother would be the slightest bit forgiving.

"I want to shoot you right between the eyes and end this now," She growls.

There are many things that if I had less self-preservation I would say right now. No number of cutting rejoinders that the filters in my brain nix before they can even form on my lips. Instead, I remain silent.

And while that might not have been the _right_ move, it clearly wasn't the _wrong_ one, as Ana lowers her rifle, grinding her teeth visibly. She spins about on her heels, grumbling, "My daughter likes dark chocolate."

I'm starting to get the feeling that members of Overwatch speak their own jargon that anyone outside the organization doesn't quite understand. Instinctively, I ask, "Pardon?"

"Nevermind, you," Ana snarls, and turns her upper body in my direction before she warns, "I'll be watching _you_ , boy. And it _won't_ be with any camera. Got it?"

I doubt she would have considered any rejoinder I had, so I again say nothing. I can't fault her. I _won't_ fault her.

Ana stomps away, though distance means little for a sniper. Then from the other direction, I hear Junkrat pipe up, "Oi! I stand corrected, mate! You're boned, you unlucky sot!"

I fear the junker is more right than wrong. What have I gotten myself into?

 _Author's Note: Okay, Pharmercy fans... **now** you can let me have it._


	4. Chapter 4

"You are looking as jovial as ever, Nnamdi," Booku observes as I enter the shop. Even at six in the morning, the omnic is already at work on the pulse drive. I suspect he never stopped when I left yesterday evening.

"You really could _stop_ working at some point, friend. It makes me feel lazy." I add in embarrassment.

"But sleep and social interaction aren't necessities for me, or for any omnic. It would be wasteful to spend critical hours doing things I don't need when I can apply them to things that I do."

I shake my head at my partner's complete lack of judgment on this score. "It's times like this where I wonder how omnics weren't total victors over us humans."

"Because while we are tireless, we are not flawless," Booku explains. "I have spent three times as many hours optimizing this drive as you have, but I could have spent twenty times as many on my own, and been no closer to a solution. Why? Because _you_ were the one who reinvented this wheel, so to speak. You were the one that developed the 'echo chamber' as you call it that makes a drive of this size possible."

Pulse drives require remarkably little fuel for the energy they produce, which was what made them so useful in personal devices and passenger vehicles. However, as the mass of the object being propelled increases, the frequency and amplitude of the pulse necessary to push that mass with anything resembling reasonable acceleration becomes so great that it would lead to violent shaking that affects the performance and even structural stability of the craft.

Finding a solution had turned into a trillion credit industry. Everything from multiple drive configurations with staggered pulses (the critical flaw being that it proved to be impossible to stagger the pulses and keep the craft stable) to multiple drive configurations with synchronized pulses (which proved to be impossible to maintain over a few minutes duration even with a computer assist, and leading to much the same problem as the staggered drives).

Which lead to my 'echo chamber' solution; a chambered core that used similar technology as what is found on stealth aircraft to "compress" the pulses to the point that it fired at a rate where computer assists could make any minor corrections and emulate smooth propulsion.

The omnic looks up at me momentarily stopping the adjustments it was making. "Think of it as we are both given a clump of blocks, and plans for a house. I can build a house with those materials that is far superior than the original plans. You can take those same blocks and create a car, or a ship, or a statue of a horse. I, and many other omnics like me, lack that spark of creativity, and the few of us that _do_ have that spark are more confused with it than blessed. Even though we are programmed in hexidecimal, our thought processes are still remarkably binary. It is nigh impossible for us to think beyond what our definitions allow us to."

It goes back to its task with a finishing line of, "To put an overly simplistic analogy on it, us omnics were more than capable of beating humans at chess in over a billion ways. That didn't help us once Overwatch started playing checkers with the pieces."

I bite my lower lip. Despite having known Booku for seven years at this point, I've been reluctant to broach this particular topic. "I've been meaning to ask you. You are certain that your platform existed before the Omnic Crisis. But I've never heard you talk about your experiences during them. I'm sure you weren't a soldier, but surely you remember a great deal."

Booku shakes its head. "I do not in fact. My... memory... the data that was stored in a way that I could retrieve doesn't start until shortly after Anubis was contained. I suspect most omnics would tell you the same. My theory is that our memories of before the resolution of the crisis were stored with whatever god AI program we were tethered to. In a sense, our sentience didn't actually begin until the god programs were sealed. We didn't become ourselves until our observations had no choice but to become our own."

That was rather what I was afraid of.

I don't get much opportunity to think on it further before I hear a trill of someone entering the main sales floor. We don't get many visitors, for while my shop is _technically_ open to the public, the price tag for our services are usually far beyond what the average citizen can afford. Though we have certainly made exceptions for people in cases of emergency, in which case the cost is usually in the realm of zero.

But there was little knowing who this customer was until I went up to the main floor to meet him or her.

It turned out to be a Egyptian man, in a blue uniform suit with the insignia of Helix Security emblazoned on the right breast, and a company ID clipped to the pocket on the left. "Nnamdi Ngumi?" he says, offering his hand in greeting. As I take it, he introduces himself, "Habib Fadil, with Helix Security International."

"Were you one of the men tracking me last month?" I ask slyly.

He coughs nervously, then answers, "No. And I do apologize for that unauthorized mission. Had we known Captain Amari's intentions, we would not have acquiesced to it."

Booku had come up behind me, for the omnic offers, "Rest assured, my partner took no offense."

That I did not, but that was beside the point. "What can I do for you, Mr. Fadil?"

"The executive board in Cairo wishes to speak to you pertaining to a delicate matter that they think you might have some expertise in. I am here to see if that would be tenable and when such a meeting could take place."

I sense Booku look at me with concern, and I know why. There's only one thing that Helix Security would have interest in the Doomfist legacy for.

Anubis.

I'm not entirely certain what I could offer, as I don't have any solutions my grandfather didn't have... and that one isn't acceptable at this point.

But at the same time, I don't refuse the meeting if for selfish reasons, and we work out the details very quickly as Booku repeatedly interjects that I could be made available at any time and that it would gladly handle the shop work while I am gone.

Can an omnic be a wingman? I'd say yes.

The Helix representative doesn't hang around, not that I particularly want him to, because I have some messages to compose. Booku understands this, as he knowingly says, "It would seem you finally have your reason to go to Cairo."

Truth be told, I hadn't waited for a visit in person to begin a correspondence. Fareeha and I had been quite conversational in fact. This time, I resort to text because I'm not certain if she's in her office or out in the field, informing her that I had a meeting with her bosses in Cairo.

Her response was surprisingly fast, though also in text.

 _Do not tell me details. If they have not informed me of these plans, then I do not have the proper clearance, and I'd rather not get in more trouble._

She had been rather annoyed when the Numbani officers had learned that her orders to watch me had not been official, and she had received a light reprimand for her actions. I'd like to think that my repeated assurances that I had not been aggrieved had eased her punishment, though in reality, I suspect that they hadn't severely punished her because they found the information she had gathered to be useful themselves.

 _ **Very well.**_

 _Is this meeting in the morning, afternoon, or evening?_

 _ **10:00 EET on the 7**_ _ **th**_ _ **.**_

 _Excellent. I have some personal days due to me, and I'll take one. Once your meeting is over, I'll show you around and then we'll have dinner. I know just the place. Nothing fancy, so don't worry about bringing an extra change of clothes._

Just for clarity, I type...

 _ **So, is this a date?**_

Her response had no hesitation.

 _Of course it is. Do not be silly._

That no doubt dumb grin creeps across my face again. While Fareeha has _never_ been subtle or unclear about her intentions in our interactions, to hear it confirmed is still very welcome.

 _ **Then I will see you on the 7th. Be well.**_

So what if I'm acting like I'm a sixteen-year-old going on his first date? That... wouldn't be terribly far from the truth. Finding people that weren't intimidated of my family name upon introduction had been difficult. Of those that weren't, the overwhelming majority of them had some very deplorable personality traits that sought something from me.

It is probably why of those that would represent my "inner circle," most of them were omnics.

One such omnic warns me, "Nnamdi... the door."

I look up, and the smile vanishes. Ana is on the other side, somehow not triggering the automatic doors. She glares at me, points two fingers to her eyes, then one at me, before she vanishes in between blinks.

"I sense no small degree of animosity, and have detected her presence near you several times." Booku states. "Should I inform the police?"

I doubt that would do much good, so I decline. "If Ana meant any harm, she would have taken her shot by now. I fear the only thing that getting police involved would be to put them in a situation where they might overreact and lead to people getting hurt or killed."

"Understood. I'm merely not sure if someone clearly so imbalance can be trusted..."

Finally I explain, "She is Fareeha's _mother_."

Booku goes silent for a beat, and quips. "I see. Should I invite her in if she comes to the door again?"

I chuckle, "If you wish. If she accepts, I would recommend having some oolong tea ready. It is allegedly her favorite."

I have a box in my cupboard at home and in the pantry here for precisely that reason.

"Speaking of favorites, your present for Miss Fareeha _did_ arrive last night. Did you receive it?"

"I did. And I'll think I'll use this trip as a reason to deliver it."

"Excellent."

If I had an extra spring in my step today, I think I had good reason for it. Not even Ana's ever watchful eye was going to dampen my spirits.

* * *

The following three days, however, felt like the longest of my life. Booku suggested that part of that could be that I hadn't allowed myself a vacation in the six years since I first opened my shop. Though I reminded him that the trip was for business, he correctly observed that said business _wasn't_ why I was so eager.

But that didn't change that there _was_ business to attend to, and that I wanted to be as on top of it as I could be going into the meeting with the leaders of Helix Security.

Using the Eye over the next three days, I dig into the pertinent events regarding Anubis. Immediately, I find a report from Fareeha, detailing an incident where the god AI shook off its shackles and started causing chaos before her team could subdue it again.

A report following from the programmer who finally brought Anubis back to heel cited a lack of funding, poor research and development, and unwillingness to maintain the facilities as reason for the break. The corporate body's report contested those claims, citing a lack of diligence on the part of the programmers to keep the shackling program updated as the primary reason for the failure of containment.

This was all very troubling to absorb. The god AI programs were nigh infinitely adaptable, but in their reduced function state, none of them should have been able to slip their leash so quickly. It was imperative to determine the cause quickly, and fix those problems.

I entertain expanding my search outside of Helix Security, but really the only place that I could potentially get more information relevant to Anubis would be from the Egyptian Defense Ministry itself. And as eager as I am to go further... I'm not _so_ confident in the abilities of the Eye that I was willing to potentially engage in what could be determined as an act of war by infiltrating a government military institution.

So, I wait. And at one in the morning on the 7th, I wake up for the big day. In truth, I could be in Cairo in twenty minutes, but I'd rather not cause an international incident. So, I have to travel legit, which means supersonic travel only within the designated freeways. And that makes what could be less than a half hour into a three hour trip. Factor in a four time zone difference and the desire to be there early, as you are expected to be when dealing with corporate brass, and that leads to a really long day for me.

But I tell myself that it'll all be worth it.

The automated driving system allows me to get a little extra sleep, though I have to rouse myself before we reach any border checks. Sleeping at the wheel, even with an autopilot, can be a pretty hefty fine.

The day quickly becomes a whirlwind of "hurry up and wait" once I reach Helix Security's corporate offices in downtown Cairo. They own an entire building to themselves, as far as I can tell, and probably why they want to have the meeting here rather than in Numbani, which as I recall amounted to two floors somewhere in a shared high rise just off the Financial District.

And apparently, so much going on that they can't even keep to their own meeting times.

By 10:17am, I'm escorted into their "green room" with instructions to help myself to anything inside, including a mini-bar, massage parlor, and sauna. I don't exactly avail myself of any of them as it is still _far_ too early to be drinking, and I'd rather not shrug out of this suit just to put it all back on again.

At 10:29, two other men in Helix dress uniforms enter the green room, and I initially stand thinking that the time for my meeting has finally arrived. The first one, a tall heavily built Egyptian man held up his hand and said, "While we will be escorting you to the boardroom, that time isn't quite yet." He looks at my arms, and gestures to them. "No gauntlets?"

"I only bring them with me when I anticipate combat. Are you suggesting I was mistaken by not wearing them?"

He shrugs, "Well, I'm told the board gets into some heated fights..."

I don't _mean_ to sound annoyed, but I probably do. "If the board is not ready, what brings you here?"

The other, a younger, slender man explained, "We wanted to have a talk with the new Doomfist, you see, and it seemed like now was as good of a time as any. I am Tariq Khalil, and my partner is Saleh Toghay."

We exchange handshakes, as I introduce myself, perhaps redundantly. "Nnamdi Ngumi. A pleasure to meet you."

Saleh's gets a suggestive half-grin. "Not nearly as much of a pleasure as it was meeting our captain though, I'm sure."

"Although I can see why she got so smitten," Tariq observes.

Now, _this_ discussion just turned promising. "Oh?"

Saleh chuckled, "Never seen the woman like that. She came back from Numbani after helping quell the riots, despite our bosses strongly suggesting she shouldn't by the by, flushed from temple to chin. Claimed she was worn out from fighting... but _no one_ had _ever_ seen her like that. So we got to digging. Eventually Tariq discovered she had called the Numbani office looking for surveillance on you, and we started putting it together, even as she threatened to put us on a run through the Sahara if we made too much noise about it."

I now remember Fareeha talking about them. "She is your commanding officer, then?" I ask.

Tariq nodded, "I started in Giza, but was transferred to the quick response team Captain Pharah leads. While I'm sure you've already heard it a hundred times from every man and woman with a title in this company, I sincerely hope that her actions didn't reflect poorly."

I grin. "Not at all. With my family name, I've gotten rather used to being watched. I hadn't thought anything of it until your captain herself brought it to my attention during her Red Cross mission to Cape Town."

"I wonder if _that's_ why she took a personal day?" Saleh wondered. "Wonder if our bosses didn't even want her in the building when you came in and made her take one."

As much as it seemed like Fareeha didn't want her coworkers knowing about her personal life, at the same time I couldn't stand as her name was besmirched by her subordinates. "I'll have you know her personal day was her own decision," I declare firmly before my smile cracks through, "She is preparing for our date tonight, after all."

Saleh and Tariq's eyebrows raise in unison, and they look at each other bemusedly. "Tariq... get me a drink. I think we're both going to need one as we gather some _wonderful_ ammunition _._ "

In truth, they do most of the talking for the next hour. There's not much I'm willing to share about the couple of adventures Fareeha and I had, and even less about our conversations after. Saleh and Tariq, on the other hand, prove to be veritable fonts of amusing tales.

It was actually quite a relief to learn that Fareeha had been as flustered as I was after our first meeting, and she had guiltily confided in Tariq in much the same way that I had to Father Adande. She had always seemed so collected and sure of herself that to learn she was a bundle of nerves all yesterday planning an itinerary and wardrobe (though her team didn't know that at the time) was endearing.

Then finally, at 11:41am, Sariq's comm buzzes. He looks down, and sighs, "Alright. Time's up. Let's bring this fellow to his meeting with the brass."

The pair took the lead, and Tariq says, "I wouldn't mind talking some more after your meeting if you're up to it. We really didn't get the chance to pry into you, after all."

Saleh glanced back, and disagrees. "Oh... now that I have a good idea what Captain Pharah was fussing about yesterday, I dare say the rest of his day is booked."

Tariq has a laugh at that and agrees, "If I had any confidence that I could tail them without the captain discovering me and killing me... although it might be worth it to see her more feminine side."

I'm not sure what to make of that statement, because it doesn't make much sense to me. Fareeha is who she is, and as far as I can tell, her manner while "on the job" is pretty much _exactly_ how she interacts outside of it. Fiercely protective, loyal, determined, confident yet playful.

But I hold my tongue. No sense snapping at someone who probably meant no insult.

Not that would have had much time. The very next corner led to a pair of brass trimmed oak double doors, which lead to the corporate boardroom. Saleh and Tariq stay outside, closing the doors behind me. After short introductions with about twelve names that I only remembered three of at most, CEO Hansel Heimerschleiff got right to business.

I had been initially been taken aback by a German in charge of a corporation based out of Cairo, and that more than half of them were quite clearly European, until I reminded myself of the "International" designation of the company. Helix Security had probably moved _several_ times over the course of its existence, and is probably here only as long as the tax breaks are good.

"Mr. Ngumi, I don't think there's much secrecy as to why you are here," Hansel says. "The god AI program under our watch, Anubis, has proven to be more adaptive than we had anticipated when we took over its safekeeping. As your grandfather was the only one who ever successfully destroyed such a program..."

I glare angrily at him for even _thinking_ of invoking that calamity. "The remains of Cape Town are evidence of what it takes to destroy a god AI, and the fallout that comes of it," I say sternly. "Rest assured, if we did the same in Giza to Anubis, anywhere from Numbani to Baghdad would feel the impact in one way or another."

"Well... that is our _second_ question," Madeline Lourdis, two chairs to the right interjects. "Are we certain that destroying a god AI would also... well... you know... it wouldn't matter if we launched it into the Sun or something?"

I stare her down next. "That is difficult to say. Presumably there is a range of a god AI's influence, though Gamab seemed capable of controlling any of its bound omnics anywhere in the world. Regardless, moving it out of that range would be exactly the same as outright destroying it, and destroying a god AI would lead to tremendous losses of omnic lives."

"Are we sure that's the case though?" Lin Houshou, the CFO if I remember correctly asks, "There are many gaps in our knowledge of the Cape Town battle."

"Despite what the legend of him would imply about my grandfather's battle prowess, Adhubu Ngumi didn't kill seventeen million omnics scattered in a range from Angola to Somalia in one night."

"Could that have been a result of the destruction of Gamab, and not an inevitable consequence of that?" Hansel offered.

"You're the ones with the god AI in house," I reply. "Not me. I'm a mechanical engineer by trade, just like my grandfather and father were. None of us were computer scientists. If you were hoping that my grandfather had done some research on these programs that he didn't share with the rest of the world, I can tell you that I am not aware of any. His priority was to destroy Gamab, and the preservation of any omnic lives were of no concern to him."

An older Egyptian man whose name I couldn't remember grumbled, "Should it be a concern of ours, for that matter?"

I don't even pretend to hide my disgust at that sentiment. I turn to the man with an aggressive, growling tone saying, "There are approximately seventy-seven million omnics within Anubis's influence. Seventy-seven _million_ beings with memories, opinions, experiences, and yes, even self-awareness. What you are implying is nothing short of _genocide_."

"That didn't seem to be something that worried _them_ ," the man retorted.

I calm myself. Judging from his age, this was a man who likely experienced the omnic crisis, seeing their methodical eradication of entire populations first and second hand. It would no doubt be _very_ hard for him to stir sympathy for omnics after that. That doesn't make his perspective any more right, but getting angry and shouting him down would do nothing but compel him to dig in his heels and resist further.

"I would hope we would be better than that," I finally reply as calmly as I can muster. "While it may be the _simplest_ solution, I cannot agree it would be the _best_."

Hansel interjects by saying, "I apologize for Mr. Ebeid's outburst, Mr. Ngumi, and I fear that he did not present his concern properly. The problem is that we may not have the choice, and that day of reckoning may come far sooner than any of us would like."

I realize I can't leave this meeting without giving them _some_ hope, however faint. "What I _can_ offer you on that score is that a private group of omnic and human interests in Numbani have been working on this very problem in what free time they have. I'm not _entirely_ certain how far along they are, or if they even have any theories, but I suspect they would be willing to share what they have learned with you."

In truth, I doubt this very much. This nameless group has some extremely socialist slants, and helped my father develop the Eye specifically to combat corporate interests. They would be far more willing to trust someone like Sombra than a faceless corporation. But I can try to lean on them by expressing the urgency that Helix Security has in the face of this growing problem.

"Anything you can dig up will help us a great deal," Hansel acknowledged, though his tone of voice suggested the same amount of hope I had for the offer. "Unless there is anything else that anyone has to ask, I think we can excuse Mr. Ngumi from this meeting. Anyone opposed?"

Silence was all the answer I need. I stand up without prompting, offer swift partings, and allow Ms. Lourdis to show me out. I don't really acknowledge Saleh or Tariq, as I'm already digging for my phone the instant I cross the threshold into the hall.

 _ **I'm done.**_

 _Already? I've never known Helix executives to settle anything quickly._

 _ **Let's just say we didn't have much to offer each other. If not for you, I would not consider this trip to have been worth my time.**_

 _Rest assured I will certainly make sure your visit to Cairo is worth it. I'll meet you at the main roundabout in twenty minutes._

At that moment, I look up from my phone, and don't see my escorts in front of me. A breath later, and I discover that they were looking over my shoulders, one to each side. Saleh unapologetically says, "Well, I had started to ask you where we should take you, then when we saw you engrossed in your phone, we figured it would probably be easier just to look in. We were right. Come this way."

We head back in the direction of the green room, but instead of a right that would take me to the parking garage, we take a left towards the east side of the building. My two escorts "graciously" decide to wait with me for Fareeha's arrival, something that I quickly inform her of once we're in the main lobby looking out at the roundabout in question.

 _They're good people, no matter how much they are no doubt trying to get embarrassing stories of me. Let them linger. They so rarely see me out of uniform that they're no doubt eager to see me._

 _ **And I'm not?**_

 _I would hope that much was assumed._

Approximately ten minutes later, at 1:13pm, Fareeha Amari arrived, and no doubt left more than three men at the entrance breathless.


	5. Chapter 5

"There _is_ an Allah... and he hates me," Tariq mumbled.

I'm wearing a Brioni business suit priced at roughly nine thousand credits, and somehow Fareeha makes me feel like I'm classless while wearing denim.

Granted it is very well fitting and flattering denim jeans that cling to her legs like a second skin, showing a hint of her ankles between the jeans and her white sandals. A brown suede vest was draped over her shoulders, highlighting a white tee screened with a blue Eye of Horus and a neckline cut damn near down to the middle of her rib cage.

Maybe she'd believe that I was admiring the print on her shirt, rather than the very discernible line of cleavage displayed by her shirt.

And maybe she'd believe I was the Pope.

She flashes a dangerous smile that told me she knew _exactly_ what she is doing, and that she got exactly the reaction she is looking for. She closes the distance with slow, deliberate strides, and she kisses me on the cheek with dark cherry lips. "Were you waiting long?" she asks.

"No. Not at all."

"Did you bring your McLaren?"

I shake my head. "I rather didn't want to have to potentially talk my way through a border checkpoint about my very much frowned upon modifications. I brought the Bugatti instead."

From behind me, I hear Saleh cough. "Did you hear that, Tariq? His _second_ car is a Bugatti."

"Well, you know, sometimes you need just need a junker to get you around seedier parts of town, I'm sure." Tariq snarked.

Fareeha frowns playfully, then taps me on the chest. "Oh well, I've never driven one of _those_ either, so it will suit." She then leans around me with a predatory smile, and greets her teammates. "Lieutenant. Corporal."

They stand at sharp attention and say in unison, "Ma'am."

She waves them off with a flip of her right hand as she locks eyes with me. "I think I can escort Mr. Ngumi from here. You are both dismissed."

She links her arm through mine, and examines my attire. "Perhaps I should have had you bring something to change into," she muses, "I'm not sure why it didn't process that you'd be dressed up for a corporate meeting."

I assure her, "Whatever you are planning, this would _hardly_ be the first suit I've ruined."

She leads me back towards the parking garage and says, "Well, what I will say is that we are taking _your_ car, but _I_ get to drive."

* * *

It follows that the first stop on her itinerary is Bakar Oceanic Speedway, a closed GT circuit course that winds around the Nile Delta, and no doubt why she had been hoping I'd bring my other vehicle. Even I kinda regretted missing out on the opportunity to pull nearly Mach 1 around some of these high speed embankments.

"Getting in here couldn't have been cheap," I mention as Faheera offers her ID to the security at the gate.

"Says the man who drives a Bugatti GT Sport as a backup car," she counters.

I bite my lip nervously before I admit, "I actually own seven cars, though the other five are classics that I wouldn't want to tarnish out on typical city streets. Automobile restoration is a small hobby of mine... in the scant minutes every day that I'm not working on whatever engineering patent catches my interest."

"I'm sure," Fareeha remarks as we enter the queue for our laps. "And I should thank you for that."

"Hmm?"

"During my... investigation of you, I learned that your design was used in modifying my armor's jump jet. The old jet wasn't able to sustain stable flight _nearly_ as long. Now, if I manage my fuel battery properly, I can remain airborne nigh indefinitely."

I can't let myself take the credit. "Ah, yes... I think that was a contract with Kenistig Propulsion and Aeronautics. I do apologize, after I've sold a patent, I don't tend to follow it all that closely. But I will have to confess that was mostly Booku's work. It's the one that does most of the optimization, which as I recall that jump jet package was. I handle the reinvention and problem-solving phases."

"Well then, perhaps I should thank _him_ ," she teases, and moments later we get the green light to accelerate onto the speedway.

As much as I like working on cars, I rarely actually take them out and push their limits. Seeing Fareeha as she shifts the controls to full manual and work the turns at speeds that I wouldn't push straightaways is a little bit exhilarating and a little bit terrifying.

Especially when she doesn't stop talking while driving.

"Ever design weapons?" she asks. "Or any other military contracts?"

I nod even as I don't take my eyes off the road straight ahead. "Some, mostly because the money is _really_ good... though generally military contractors aren't terribly keen on reinventing the gun. I did a lot of work with personal rail guns for the Moroccan Armed Forces, as you've seen in action, but the funding on _that_ was dropped during a change in leadership."

The one problem with speed is that it makes things end fast. So, I don't begrudge Fareeha for taking a second lap, and a third, and a fourth. I figure I'll pay whatever the balance is, and let her have her fun.

So I am mildly surprised when that balance turned out to be nothing as we are cleared to leave. Seeing my confusion, Fareeha explains as she turns back onto proper city streets, "Being the daughter of the famed Ana Amari, and an esteemed veteran of the Egyptian Army in my own right has _some_ perks. You of all people should be able to relate to _that_."

I concede that point. I try not to think too much about the benefits I've had and the opportunities I've been given simply by being the equivalent of nobility in Numbani. Even as I tell myself I was the one who made the most of those opportunities... it occasionally rings hollow even to me.

Or perhaps my mother's lessons in humility worked a little _too_ well.

"Speaking of my mother... she isn't harassing you, is she?" Fareeha asks. "I happened to notice the last couple times I tried talking to her that she was in Numbani."

I chuckle, playing down Ana's "visits" to my shop. "Nothing I can't handle. I suspect she's worried about her little girl."

Though even as I say that, I wonder if that's at all true. In all of my short interactions with Ana, Fareeha has rarely come up, if ever. She never once threatened me specifically about her daughter, or any consequences of being around her. But if that wasn't the reason... then what was?

Fareeha also scoffs at the idea. "I am thirty-two. I think at this point I can handle my own relationships."

She pauses before admitting, "Though, in truth, I haven't had many."

I entertain several different ways of asking this question, but settle on a neutral, "Why is that?"

"My mother liked to call it 'married to her work,' which is presumably why she never married my father. I've not been inclined to even go that far. I've had so much that I've wanted to do, wanted to be, that... I really didn't have time to fashion a relationship with _anyone_ , not that too many prospects were all that interested to begin with."

Now, _that_ I find hard to believe, and apparently she gleans that skepticism out of the corner of her eye just from my facial expression.

"Oh, make no mistake, _plenty_ of men, and women for that matter, have expressed sexual interest in me. But to a man, and woman, once they discovered that I had no intention on stalling or even slowing my career for the sake of their attention, the interest rapidly faded." She made a sharp corner into a parking lot, and as she pulled to a stop, added, "I had, and have, far too much I want and need to be. No one's been willing to be secondary in my life."

I put my hand over hers on top of the gear shift as it receded into the panel. "Anyone who suggested you needed to make that choice was a fool; the failings of people who couldn't find enough value in their own lives that they sought it out of others."

She smiles, not of her cocky, confident and teasing smiles, but one of genuine relief. "Thank you. Come, let's go inside."

I leave my suit jacket in the backseat, then follow Fareeha's lead into the restaurant. It's a decidedly Western style, which surprises me, notably the mahogany bar that extended completely across the north face and dim yellow lighting that allowed for the illusion of privacy as we sat down in red faux leather covered booth seating.

"And what about you?" Fareeha asks. "While I know you haven't been seeing anyone recently, I can't imagine you haven't had your fair share of suitors either. Considering how the man is _expected_ to have a career, I doubt that's a roadblock."

I nod slowly, carefully constructing my answer to avoid making any false equivalences, even if the end result of our personal lives are much the same. "It's more a matter of trust in my personal life. The consequences of your name are not lost on you... but in my world, in many ways my name _is_ my life. While it has certainly granted me _far_ more advantages than disadvantages, I... am not particularly suited for the social strata I often find myself in."

She drops her head into her hands, silently encouraging me to continue.

"I'm not particularly interested in the political games that would lead me into relationships of convenience with people who are focused more on social maneuvering and alliances of power. And of those who are focused on those simpler ideals of romantic relationships, they tend to be quickly overwhelmed _by_ that level of civilization. It's intimidating, I'm sure. It's trying for _me_ , and I was quite literally born into it."

"And yet you remain in those circles rather than retreat from them," Fareeha observes.

I shrug, "Because I have to for the sake of many humans and omnics I respect. If I am not at least watching those games as they are played, I am not taking advantage of my blessings for the good of as many as I can manage. Especially for omnics. Even in Numbani, there isn't terribly much love for them or concern for their troubles among the city's elite. I use my name and my wealth to apply pressure to those political machines. I can't abandon that simply because I get lonely now and again."

She returns my hand to hand contact from earlier, though the sly grin has returned, "And is _this_ why you've carried on your family legacy?"

"It brings visibility to a great deal of problems, yes. But the main reason was that... well... as the girl named Tracer says, the world _does_ need more heroes."

Fareeha's eyes turn downward, "Yes. That it does, doesn't it?"

She senses my silent query as we order our drinks and explains, "I had wanted to join my mother in Overwatch. In some ways... I still do. And if the organization were to ever be decriminalized, I would probably join it as soon as I could. But my mother has dissuaded the others from allowing me entry. She wants me to have this career and money and financial security, and where she thinks I can still do some good."

Fareeha huffs scornfully, "Some good. Hah! I'll tell you what good I am doing; scampering about from place to place putting out fires Helix Security allows because they are more focused on profitable projects than actually doing what is needed to protect those who pay for their services. I am the one in charge supposedly of watching Anbuis... but I do not possess the _clearance_ to know anything about its containment or their strategies to do so."

The drinks arrive, and she immediately downs half of what had been a rum and coconut cocktail. "There are some things more important than money. Lives and the quality they live, no matter how much judges and lawyers try, do not and can not come with a price tag."

Her monologue was interrupted by our server who takes our order, and I find a moment of curiosity that breaks the fugue with Fareeha's choice.

"What?" she asks. "I refuse to believe that you've never had this style of food before living in Numbani."

I laugh softly, "It's not that... it's that you ordered pork."

She cocks her left eyebrow, and retorts. "I've never pretended to be a good Muslim, especially when my father introduced me to the wonders of this particular meat. Besides, unless you've went to Mass recently, I know for a fact you've not been a good Christian boy for over two months."

She's not wrong. "Fair point. I apologize."

"And what of your family? I know your parents are both dead... but I am not aware as to how. I was never privy to the final battle against Doomfist."

"Nor was I, honestly," I admit, "Though I _did_ manage to learn more in the aftermath and years later. While Winston claimed to deliver the final blow, and that much is true, the official report leaves out many details."

"Like what?" Fareeha asks, definitely curious herself.

"As you know, the Doomfist gauntlets come with a dead man's switch. My father disabled his when it became clear that Commander Gabriel Reyes was hellbent on killing him, no matter the cost. Even when made _aware_ of the dead man's switch, Reyes persisted in his charge, even as the fight bled into the streets of Numbani, and despite repeated orders from Morrison to pull back."

"Reaper. Why am I not surprised?" Fareeha interjects.

"My father had come to Numbani to meet with Morrison and Overwatch to discuss terms where he would surrender himself to the United Nations for judgment. Most notably on his list of requirements was protections for omnic citizens in Africa, giving them the same rights under the law that he had pushed forward in Morocco and Numbani. This was apparently unacceptable in Reyes's eyes."

"In the aftermath, my father realized that Overwatch represented the one chance for his ideals to be met. He... baited Winston into killing him, from what I can discern, taking a children's hospital 'hostage' after Reyes had tarnished the negotiations. Understanding that he needed to be cast as the villain to prevent Overwatch from being labeled as such... he... let Overwatch kill him."

Fareeha frowned sadly, and I reached over to take her hand reassuringly, "Before you bemoan _too_ much, I do want to say that my father anticipated that this would likely be the end result of his war. He went as far as to change his family name to distance my mother and me from association because he knew he would be painted as a fiend. He went into it eyes wide open, and I refuse to mourn the injustices of a man who took them willingly to try and ensure a better life for all. I instead honor his forward thinking and his sacrifice."

I'm not sure if she accepts that logic. I'm not entirely certain _I_ accept it either. But she at least puts up a brave face about it. "And what about your mother?"

 _This_ is a lot harder for me to talk about, but I do so anyway. Perhaps it will do some good. "My mother... she was... devoted in every sense of the word to my father. She could not bear to live in a world where he was The Scourge. When I reached age of majority at eighteen... she went to my father's grave on the following anniversary of his death, and committed suicide. Poisoned herself with arsenic. Father Adande, a close mentor of mine, found her that night. She lived long enough to see me to adulthood... and considered her obligations to this world complete."

Fareeha's right hand flew to her mouth while her left touched my forearm. "Nnamdi... that is not right. That a mother would abandon her child to the world for _any_ reason, please know that's not how it should be."

"I have had a decade to come to terms with it," I say. "It is still hard to recount, but... there is no changing it, and no point wishing it had been different."

Our food arrives, and Fareeha takes that opportunity to change the topic of conversation, asking our waiter if she can change the channel on the display embedded into our booth to a hockey game on the other side of the world.

"And more surprises from the lovely Fareeha Amari," I tease.

She harumphs indignantly. "I'll have you know this is a sport of physical artistry. Another one of my father's distractions that I have come to enjoy."

"So I take it he is not Egyptian, then," I surmise, though I knew _that_ much already from my horribly inappropriate research into her life. However, details on the man were scarce, mostly because Overwatch themselves didn't know.

Fareeha confirmed this, "He was born to a Canadian native tribe in British Columbia. He joined Overwatch as a medical engineer, and where he met my mother. While they never had a traditional relationship by any means, they remained close and my mother never had any qualms or complaints about me staying in touch with him, even as it lead to some very non-Sharia behaviors. I presume to this day that they remain at least on speaking terms, as I know that he assisted in the development of the biotic rifle that my mother uses now, and I can't imagine my mother would have tolerated that if they could not stand each other."

She paused long enough to swallow several bites, and suggested, "I visit him at least twice a year; once on his birthday and another during the Christmas season in Canada. If... you would like... presuming we can still stand to be in the same room as each other... I would like you to meet him."

I smile warmly, "And I would like that."

We finish our dinner with amiable small talk. There was enough heaviness in the air as it was, and I learned more about the nuances of hockey. Though I fear I will never understand "icing." It is played on _ice_. How is anything _not_ icing?

"You'll get it in time, or we simply cannot have a future together," she remarks, though I am certain she's joking.

Maybe.

* * *

It is past sunset by the time we finally return to Helix Security, and we stop outside the gate to make our partings. I am confused as to why she chose right then to reapply her lip color, until she surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck, and leaning up to my ear to whisper, "You have now impressed me three times. But unfortunately for you, I don't reward people on a first date."

"I would never have presumed," I reply.

"However, be prepared. You'll never know when I will make good on my promise." Her eyes narrow suggestively, and her voice turns sultry that makes my spine tingle. "And rest assured, I always keep my promises."

"Oh!" I exclaim, running back to my car and popping open the trunk. I grab the item in question from the cooler compartment it had been in, and return to Fareeha. "I had almost forgotten I had bought this for you."

She examines the foil wrapped bar in a blue wrapper warily as she spins it between her fingers, and says, "Thank you." She doesn't seem terribly pleased, which I find surprising.

"Just a week ago, that was a cocoa pod in Columbia, and fashioned in Belgium," I offer, then add defensively, "I was... told you'd like it."

She eyes me with suspicion. "By who?"

"Your mother."

Fareeha's response was a skeptical, "Uh huh."

"It was!" I insist. "She looked right at me in Cape Town, and said, 'my daughter likes dark chocolate,' then walked away. Was she wrong?"

Fareeha's lips curl into an amused grin, and she chuckles, returning her arms to their place around my neck. "No. She had it exactly right. Thank you."

I entertain kissing her at that moment, but never get the chance, for she takes the initiative herself. Her lips are far softer than I would think a soldier's should have right to be. She then follows it up with leaving a dark red lip mark on the collar of my shirt. "You did say you had no problem ruining your suit, no?" she teases after I cock my eyebrow in query.

"Oh, I would hardly call it ruined. I just simply can't wear this shirt in public ever again without causing a bevy of headlines in the Journal Numbani and other publications. It's a worthy sacrifice, I assure you."

Fareeha scoffs, "I'm honestly surprised we weren't followed by a hundred magazines tonight, at least not in person. I have no doubt we'll both see pictures of this online within the hour. Oh well. Let them admire and envy us."

She finally steps away with a simple goodbye, and a swift peck to my cheek. I'm only barely aware of her playfully admonishing Saleh and Tariq, who were apparently standing watch at the gate for precisely this moment.

Because by that point, I've turned around and discover my car has taken on _another_ passenger.

Refusing to show intimidation or fear, I instead deliberately slide into the driver's seat, and turn over the engine. "I take it you're going my way?"

Ana doesn't even look at me, her brows furrowed grumpily, and her lips turned downward with what seems to be annoyance. "Drive," she orders gruffly. "We have much to talk about."


	6. Chapter 6

_Author's Note: This kinda stopped being a "short" a while ago, huh?_

Ana waits until we're on the main highway and I can set the autopilot to take over. Apparently, she anticipates this will require my significant attention.

"First thing, this has little to do with Fareeha. She can take care of herself. If anything, her approval is a point in your _favor_."

Confirmation of a suspicion I had for some time. "I see."

Ana purses her lips, thinking about how she wants to approach this. I can see the internal war she is having in her face. "When you assumed the Doomfist moniker, I needed to know exactly who you were. As you must be aware, that legacy is a very polarizing one. Why not something else? Why not blaze your own path?"

"Because it would have been pointless," I answer. "The world knows my name. It knows the technology I wear. No matter what I named myself, I was going to be 'Doomfist.' There was no sense even trying to hide from that."

I know that's not the entire answer, and Ana knows that too. I can feel her penetrating gaze as if she could rip into my mind and take what she wanted.

It works in a sense. "And I didn't want to dishonor my father by attempting to run away from that."

Ana lets out a relieved sigh. "So you _do_ take after your father. That's a good thing."

"Odd to hear that from one of his enemies."

The old sniper laughs, "Jack... I mean... Morrison, was rather famed among us for saying that if circumstances had been different, your father would have been a great Overwatch agent. We had little animosity for him, even as we were at odds as to the direction of the world and Africa in particular."

I doubt that very much. My father was extremely socialist, and would have not fit in the slightest within Overwatch's designs. "What _was_ Overwatch's direction for Africa in particular?"

"Exactly what we said it was," Ana retorts crossly. "Talon had formed in the aftermath of the Omnic Crisis, and all intelligence pointed to them being based largely within the southern parts of Africa. Yes, a _lot_ of capital interests tried to follow in our wake, and your father was right to call out those scavengers. And no... I'm not sure how he could have fought them without fighting us in the process."

I suggest, "Perhaps you could have had the benefit of the doubt had your leaders not tossed mine out in the cold during the Omnic Crisis."

"And we should have fought against that harder," Ana admitted. "I sometimes wonder how much differently, how much better, our world could have been had we not been ruled by fear and instead by empathy. Perhaps your grandfather would not have needed to resort to such extreme measures. Maybe he wouldn't have felt forced to..."

"My grandfather may have stopped Gamab, but I am not certain he didn't do more harm than good."

Ana laughed bitterly, "Akinuide trusted Overwatch with his hope for a better future, and we let corporate interests throw that away for money and a broken continent that has no reason to trust the rest of the world. We watched as mass media shaped him into The Scourge, while heralding his tyrant of a father as The Savior, and did _nothing_ to fight that narrative because we were too busy fighting amongst ourselves."

I narrow my eyes at her. "And what do _you_ know of my grandfather?"

She snapped back, "More than you, I would wager. I... didn't _entirely_ follow the UN resolution to abandon the continent to its own devices. I may be Egyptian, but I am _also_ African. I aided Adhubu when I could, most through information trading, anything relevant I could find on omnic strategies, orbital reconnaissance... and occasionally as sniper support whenever I was allegedly on leave."

Ana snarled, then rolled down the window long enough to spit angrily out of it. "Bastard didn't even _want_ my help when he discovered I was an Egyptian. We were traitors, in his eyes. On top of that, I was a woman, which meant I should have been in the medical tents with Mercy, who of course was _allowed_ to be there by the UN, because reasons."

I bite my tongue, knowing that Dr. Ziegler wasn't present very much in _any_ part of Africa, much less the ones hit hardest by the Omnic Crisis, mostly because of her obligations to Overwatch. It didn't seem like offering an objection would be productive.

"But how he treated _me_ wasn't so much a bother. I was long used to arrogant men dismissing me because I didn't have the proper parts. It didn't bother me that I was never thanked for disobeying direct orders to help his cause. The UN itself was and is _filled_ with ungrateful sots that would sooner spit on a soldier than honor her."

"No... what bothered me about Adhubu Ngumi was his callous disregard for any life that he didn't deem 'worthy.' Not just omnics... anyone who couldn't contribute to his war in some way had no value. If you were poor, you didn't matter. If you were old, you were cast aside. If you were sick, you were abandoned. Of any general I've ever met, he was the one who had the least empathy for the living toll on the calculus of war. He would have gladly traded ten thousand lives to disable one omnium, and had."

Even though I know she's right... I feel bound by blood to come to his defense. "Desperation can harden the heart of _any_ man."

Ana scoffed, "I dare say his heart was hardened long before the Omnic Crisis. What do you think his thoughts would be in regards to your business partner, for example? Somehow I doubt they'd be complementary."

"It was a different time, and more than anything, people are a product of their times," I argue.

"Hate is hate. Whether its time or its place or its target. Plenty of people from that time have no murderous intent for omnics. Your _father_ was somehow able to put that past behind _him_ and fight for their freedom and their liberty."

"And _that_ is the man that is vilified. The one who rose above the pettiness and hatred of man. The one who had a font of forgiveness despite every wrong done to him. The one who simply could not be _allowed_ to be remembered fondly by history because he thought that maybe we could share our wealth and resources better than we are because the wealthy elite didn't _like_ that message. The man whose last words were that he hoped Reyes found some peace and that Winston should not feel guilt for what he had to do..."

She punched the passenger's side door, and again I bite my tongue. Any damage that happens is easily enough repaired.

"That someone like Reyes still lives and Akinuide doesn't is a _crime_."

It occurs to me that Ana never submitted a report about my father's death. Everyone else who had been present did except her. "What exactly happened when my father was killed? Why would anyone had blamed him for killing Reyes after Reyes attacked him?"

"Because of something _we_ didn't realize until after Reyes turned on all of us years ago. Something Akinuide saw before any of us. Morrison had ordered Blackwatch to stay out of Numbani for the negotiations, as they were already becoming a point of contention in the fighting. But Reyes wasn't going to accept that. He had some of his most trusted men in Numbani, men who would go on to join Talon... dressed as members of Doomfist's militia. What the outside world saw... was Doomfist's 'men' starting the fight, and Reyes simply reacting in defense of Overwatch."

The reports that I had found confirmed that telling, even as I hadn't believed it, that my father's men had invaded the convention hall where he and Morrison were meeting. As my father's had insisted his militia men be anonymous to prevent their actions from reflecting poorly on their lives and family, there would have been very hard to prove Blackwatch agents (who themselves were scrubbed from any official record) had been the ones responsible.

Ana then pointed a finger at me, and said, "But your father was _still_ a jackass for baiting poor Winston into killing him, intentionally invoking the poor boy into a rage. Had he picked on _anyone_ else... had he let _any_ of us into it... we could have helped him..."

I shook my head. "My father was a prideful man, by the accounts I've heard. Once he had an idea in his head, he did not sway from it. Second guessing is the first failure, was one of his sayings."

"I trust you don't share such pigheadedness."

"I _do_ believe that once you've committed to a path that you should see it through to the end," I answer. "But I _don't_ believe in my father's Committee of One. I prefer to get as many viewpoints as I can before I set my path."

Ana levels narrowed, suspicious eyes at me, then a chirping sound from her waist got her attention. Pulling a tablet phone from her belt, she frowns and says, "You and Fareeha are already tabloid news. I hope you two are happy."

"She and I were honestly expecting it. Hell, I'm surprised it took this _long_ for news of our date to start popping up. I tend to garner a bit of attention when I go out and about, much less when I leave the country. Considering Fareeha isn't exactly an unknown name herself would make for some enticing lifestyle news update."

"Pharist is the new hot pairing on the Mediterranean," Ana deadpans, presumably reading the title of the photo set an article.

"Pharist? Why not Doomrah or something? Why does she get top billing?"

"My daughter gets top billing because she's a beautiful, intelligent woman desired by anyone from Casablanca to Jerusalem who likes the _idea_ of a strong-willed independent women but not the _reality_ , and you're just a billionaire playboy who doesn't play."

I laugh. "I suppose that's true."

Ana glares at me. Apparently, I wasn't taking this seriously enough for her liking.

I shrug in dismissal. "What should I do about it? I really like your daughter, and it seems she really likes me. We aren't going to go out on covert, clandestine, meetings to try and avoid attention. It wouldn't work to begin with. It's a reality of the world we live in. If someone wants to record your life outside your doors, they will. Hell... your life _inside_ your doors isn't even ensured to be private."

Ana huffs, though she seems to accept that, albeit reluctantly. "That people could discard privacy as something that is a luxury... oh well. I guess I'm just an old woman who never got used to the new ways of life."

"I thought you said this discussion wasn't about her," I remind. This is bordering on the sort of talk I do _not_ want to have with Fareeha's _mother_.

"Well it is _now_ ," Ana snaps back before sadly adding, "Fareeha... I don't want for her what I had."

"She wants to be in Overwatch," I remark.

Ana snarls at me, "You think I don't _know that_ , boy? She's wanted to join since she was _nine_."

"So you _have_ been blocking her."

The old sniper shook her head, " _I_ haven't been blocking _anything_. That's been Morrison's doing. The people he's been bringing in? _Illegally_ I may add? They're people with no other options. Hana Song, that poor girl? Do you know what happened?"

I shake my head, disappointed in myself that I didn't follow up on that surprising addition when I saw her during the Red Cross rescue.

"The UN deemed MEKA's actions to be child labor, and even though Hana was over eighteen at that point, they still demanded the ROK disband the project or face sanctions. Her e-sports league won't take her back because they claim she violated the terms of her contract by accepting MEKA's conscription. Morrison... called in some favors and effectively paid off the Korean Military to look the other way while he took on several of those members and their hardware."

I give Ana a questioning side eye. There's no _way_ an illegal paramilitary group had _that_ sort of money. "And how much did _that_ cost?"

Ana acknowleged, "Too much. Probably far more than we had."

That's not an answer. "I need a number."

Ana sighed. "You're not going to..."

"How much?"

She finally relented. "1.7 billion credits."

I hum thoughtfully. That's far less than I expected it to be. The ROK must have _really_ wanted that program and the threat of UN sanctions to go away. "Tell Morrison he'll be reimbursed for that by tomorrow morning."

It was _also_ something to follow up on with some contacts I had in Seoul. If they could get me in touch with some republic leaders over there...

Ana growls, "There is _no_ way I'm letting you have financial ties to Overwatch."

"You think I don't know how to move money quietly?" I ask. "Do you _honestly_ think that I'd have a _named_ omnic business partner and have it pass muster in _every_ national market if I didn't know how to grease the right wheels?"

Ana doesn't seem terribly convinced, and I assure her, "I know I'm not the world's greatest fighter. That's because I've been learning and playing _this_ game. Overwatch will get the money it needs, and no one is going to be found guilty of violating the Petras Act."

"It better not," she threatened. "Do you know how hard it was to keep my distance from her and her father for _years_? How I wouldn't even marry the man after Fareeha was born because I couldn't _bear_ putting that stigma on them? Even when we _weren't_ illegal, we were gaining such a deep stain that... damn it, if Overwatch gets you in trouble and breaks Fareeha's heart, I swear to whatever god you believe in that I'll kill you before it even gets to trial."

"And _that's_ why you don't want her to join."

"I _want_ her to have a peaceful life. A _complete_ life. One where she doesn't have to live two lives and keep everyone at arm's length because of her duties. Her father couldn't accept being my second love. Can you?"

"If that's what I have to do," I answer. "With all that _I_ do, that's just as easily a question you could ask of _her_."

"And I have," Ana retorts. "She answered, 'if that's what I have to do.' Did you two rehearse that before I cornered you both?"

I can't help but chuckle. "We did not."

She sighed, and threw up her hands in surrender. "Then I suppose I have no choice but to approve of this. Neither of you are children, you seem to know exactly what you're getting into..." she offered a faint smile, and finished, "You have my blessing. Be good to each other. She deserves nothing but the best."

"On that, Ms. Amari, we both agree."

"But no 'rewards' any time soon, got it?" Ana grumbled, pointing an accusing finger at me. "You don't know each other _that_ well."

"Any such rewarding will be entirely of Fareeha's discretion," I answer.

Ana grumbles something under her breath that I can't make out, but I don't push her on the issue. Contrary to what she might think, I don't want to embarrass her, and it's clear the sniper is already uncomfortable with with this entire line of conversation.

I let silence reign for several minutes. "You know, we'll be coming up on a border checkpoint soon. They're going to wonder who you are."

"No they won't," Ana answers. "Believe it or not, it's not illegal for me to _exist_."

That's true enough, and even if Ana specifically was a wanted criminal by the UN, it's not like any country in Africa would be willing to turn her over if on principle. On top of that, I highly doubt that anyone would be able to prove Ana was acting in any Overwatch capacity.

If she's not concerned about it, I shouldn't be either.

Ana then breaks the silence just as the LED marker over the road informs us of the coming checkpoint. "Just so you don't think I'm some domineering old woman, as much as I wouldn't like it, if Overwatch were to ever again be permitted to act above the board, and Fareeha still wanted to join, I would respect that."

"That's gracious of you."

She laughs bitterly, "More like too old to try and stand in the way of a young woman's dreams. She's always had dreams of doing and being more. Did she ever tell you the story about why she wanted to learn martial arts?"

I shake my head. "No. I figured you taught her."

"I did, but I didn't _want_ to. There was a boy in her third-year class when she was in school who was bullied by several older boys. She told me that she was going to help him whether I taught her how to fight or not." Ana laughs ruefully, then adds, "How was I supposed to tell her no at that point? She was _going_ to be fighter. She was _going_ to defend anyone she deemed helpless. She got _far_ too much of _me_ for my own good."

At that point, the lights of the checkpoint were clearly visible, and the car starts slowing down in anticipation of the stop. I'm already rolling down the window as my vehicle stops, my identification and international travel papers ready.

The guard, an Egyptian man judging from his complexion and features, looks at my ID, then at me, then at the ID again. I know that's me, so he can't be wondering why my face doesn't match. He calls over his partner manning the booth station, a lightly skinned black woman, and they turn around to quietly confer among themselves.

I'd have a warm glow in my belly to see an Egyptian and an African working comfortably together if they weren't starting to worry me. It got even more concerning once they called their counterparts from the Republic of Central Sahara over from the _other_ side of the divided freeway. At least it was late at night and there wasn't any other cars on the road waiting to be cleared through.

I gesture to the four border guards huddled around my papers, and say to Ana, "Can you believe this?"

I don't get an answer, and there's a good reason for that. My passenger seat is empty, and no doubt had been for a while. I exhale heavily, flapping my lips in resignation. Nothing I can do now but wait.

I put on my best smile when they crowd my window. The first one grins nervously, and displays his phone, where a picture from the same article that Ana had no doubt seen was displayed. I had to admit it was a good picture, right as Fareeha had planted me square on the lips. There would be little doubt as to the affection there.

But what intrigued me was the camera angle, it would have had to have come from the _other_ side of the main gate. I might have to inform Fareeha that one of her subordinates has a photography hobby and making some money on the side.

Finally, the border patrolman gets to what was no doubt the heart of all their conversation.

"Is this you?"


	7. Chapter 7

I became rather intimately familiar with the Central Sahara border patrol over the next two months, making weekly trips to Cairo and/or Giza, depending on where Fareeha was stationed that given day. We were making quite the tabloid news in the process as the "thing" was becoming "more serious," and our last get together as she took me for a tour of the Great Pyramids drew at least twenty photographers and God knows how many photo drones.

Apparently, Fareeha is a "wicked child" and "killing her mother" with her "latest antics." I had wondered if Ana had included me in those admonishments, and apparently she had not. Ana _now_ allegedly thinks I am a splendid, moral young man being corrupted by her "seductress of a daughter."

Personally, I thought Fareeha showed the most sense walking around in a bikini top and denim shorts for that date. It had been hotter than hell in Giza that day. I think I could have solved the drought in Western Nevada just by wringing out my shirt.

And _I_ certainly wasn't going to complain about the scenery.

That image of my... significant other... from five days ago was _still_ burning in my mind when I woke up this morning. I still am tripping over the "g" word when I think of her or talk with her, though she has absolutely _no_ problem with referring to me in the reverse. I don't know... it seems odd to use such personal labels with someone that I've only met in person eleven times, and two of those times were in combat situations.

I look at my HUD display on the wall, giving me pertinent information like my schedule for the day. It's 5:31am, I'm still in bed, and I _usually_ show up at the shop at six. Wonderful thing about being your own boss, though. Who's going to chide you for showing up an hour late?

I finally commit to crawling out of bed as Booku calls. I quickly snatch up my earpiece and wedge into my ear. It doesn't call before my scheduled time unless there's an emergency, so I'm understandably concerned.

"Booku, everything alright?"

The omnic doesn't sound distressed. Granted, it rarely sounds anything other than completely neutral, so that isn't necessarily an indication of anything.

"Everything is fine, Nnamdi, but I have a request for you."

"Absolutely. What do you need?"

"I need you to stay at home for the moment."

There's a long pause as I wait for Booku to explain why. When it becomes clear that it's looking for a response from me, I go with a simple, "Why?"

"I had to emergency order some supplies, but they won't send them to the shop without your clearance. So instead, I had them routed to your home address."

That's _not_ terribly unusual, especially when Booku tries ordering parts from international sources. Many of them won't accept his signature as valid for receipt, that whole omnics are not people thing rearing its head, and if it needs something promptly, a rather fudged solution is to send whatever it is to my home address where I can sign for it.

"When is it projected to arrive?" I ask.

"In roughly thirty minutes by my tracking data."

That's a _very_ early delivery time, even if sent overnight. "What did you _order_?" I ask as I start picking out my clothes. I settle on some sweatpants and a black tee, things that I can shrug out of after I take my delivery, then jump into the shower.

Booku hesitates. "I... am not at liberty to discuss that yet."

 _Now_ I'm _very_ suspicious. "Booku..." I grumble in warning.

"It is a surprise for now. I am not permitted to discuss it until it has arrived."

There's really only one conclusion I can reach. "Does it have to do with Fareeha?"

"Yes. And now I fear I have already said too much."

The omnic is saved only by the knock on my flat's front door. "It seems your 'delivery' has arrived slightly ahead of schedule," I grouse, pulling my shirt over my head. No sense trying to cajole it out of him when I can get right to the heart of the matter.

As I cross the living room to my door, I remind myself to be polite and courteous. This poor courier probably has no idea what is going on. He or she is just doing his or her job. They are not at all at fault for a business partner trying to pull a surprise on me.

So I open the door with a smile that quickly turns into an astonished jaw drop.

Fareeha Amari, clad in uniform fatigues, with a duffel bag slung over her right shoulder, and her left arm dragging a wheeled suitcase.

"Sorry for the abrupt arrival," she says with a smile, "But my reassignment came literally overnight. I barely had time to pack, let alone tell anyone." She takes one step forward, notices I still haven't moved, then asks slyly, "May I come in?"

I step aside, my mind still stupefied by her presence outside my door... and now inside my flat. She walks straight into the middle of the living room, drops her duffel bag down like she owns the place, and gives it an appraising look over. "Plenty of space here. My place in Cairo could probably fit in one of your closets and rattle around."

Fareeha's taken a liking to teasing me about my wealth, and it's one of the few things she does that I don't particularly find amusing. I finally manage to gather the wits to respond, "I've _been_ to your place. It's not _nearly_ that small." In fact, she lives in a very spacious two-floor condominium that is more than luxurious, even for someone who works in high-interest corporate security.

She turns her upper body to give me another one of her sultry smiles, then a buzz from her hip gives her pause. She holds up a finger as a silent request for a moment, then takes out her phone. There's only one person it could be judging from the evil grin that morphed onto her face.

That's confirmed when Fareeha answers the call with "Hello, mother."

I hear Ana's muffled voice from the other end, then Fareeha responds with, "As I was about to tell him, I had a reassignment to Numbani last night. Considering it's a high-priority task that I have a _very_ limited time frame to complete, I figured it would save time if I lodged here rather than trying to make accommodations in one of the busiest cities in the continent."

After another incomprehensible mumble from Ana's end, Fareeha looks at me with a grin that I can only describe as predatory. "No, mother, I'm not going to freeload off of him. Let me assure you that he will be _well_ compensated for his graciousness."

I can feel my blood starting to rush downward. It is _not_ fair at all how she can do that to me so effortlessly.

Ana's voice raises to the point where I can hear her use the "wicked child" moniker. I try not to laugh, if only for the reason that I'm afraid what Ana would do if she heard me.

Fareeha's barely controlling her own laughter, and she finally says, "I will talk to you later, mother. Goodbye." She then hangs up, and sighs wistfully, "My mother is not _nearly_ as upset as she lets on. She simply relishes playing the role of protective mom, considering we never really had the chance to play those sort of games when we were younger. Please don't let our oddities get to you."

"They do not," I assure. "So... this is really a thing?"

Fareeha nods, "It is. Helix brass has sent me here to oversee updates and upgrades to their properties they have in Numbani, the primary one an old prison complex in the city's south side. I don't know their specific intentions, as again I do not have the clearance. Have you heard anything?"

I shake my head. "Not that I'm aware of. There's been no talk about opening or re-opening any prisons in the city. Not that a private institution can even run a prison in Morocco to begin with. They could have plans to do something else with it... though I can't guess what. But why would they send you to oversee it? Is that something you've done in the past for Helix?"

"On occasion, yes," Fareeha confirmed, "But in this case, their primary reason involves _you_."

I raise an eyebrow.

"The company President said outright that he wants to... encourage... our courtship. He seems to think that having 'Doomfist' tangentially related to his company can't be anything but a good thing. He went short of outright _ordering_ me to seduce you. It would have been insulting if it hadn't been so absurd."

That's not as absurd as she might think. Helix Security no doubt at least _suspects_ I would have considerable pull with the people who make decisions in Morocco if through no reason than my bank account. If they could tap into that access, it would behoove them greatly.

That said, the absurd part would be assuming that Fareeha would allow herself to be used in such a fashion.

"Nevertheless, I don't want to presume, so let me ask properly if it's acceptable to you for me to stay here during the extent of this assignment?"

Fareeha looks so abruptly uncertain that I almost can't stand how adorable she looks. I assure her readily, "Of course you can stay. The guest room is over here to the hall on the right, then the first door on the right side."

And now the teasing smile returns, "The guest room?"

"Yes," I insist. "I don't trust myself."

She laughs. "No... I'm surprised you even bother with a guest room."

I indignantly reply, "Believe it or not, I _do_ have guests on occasion."

"Like who?" she challenges.

I might not have too many close friends, but I'm not _entirely_ a hermit, either. "Booku uses the room for a charging station whenever he attends events downtown. I also have more distant family that will visit once or twice a year. It's not like I have guests every weekend or anything, but it gets _some_ use."

After showing her to that room, I point further down the hall and say, "The next door is a training room, and the laundry room is right after that. The last door is my office, in case you need access to a full power computer rig or printer or whatnot."

"I might," Fareeha noted. "But in the meantime, I need to drop this off and get ready to leave. I wasn't kidding when I said this was a very big job I'm running. When will you be back here?"

"I usually return from the shop around 6:30 in the evening," I answer. "I can have a keycard made up for you in a couple minutes if you need in."

"I won't need it today," Fareeha declined. "Perhaps in the future, depending on how this assignment plays out. But I figure I'm going to be on-site all day. You'll no doubt get back before I do. And if by some twist of fate you're not, I know where you'll be."

She swiftly kissed me on the cheek, and said, "It'll be fine for now. And thank you for this. It really _is_ a big help to be able to stay here and get right to business."

My attempt to return the affection was interrupted by another knock on my door. I look at Fareeha, and she shrugs at my silent accusation. "What?"

I eye her warily before I answer the door again. I'm a bit surprised to see a standard courier in a red hat and shirt with brown khakis holding a tablet and a small brown paper wrapped box maybe five inches square. "Mr. Ngumi?"

"That's me..." I reply warily, signing for said package and learning that this is what Booku had ordered, which makes me understandably perplexed. If the omnic _hadn't_ been trying to keep me at home for Fareeha to arrive... what in the hell did it order that would be such a surprise that it couldn't just say so?

Then I open it up and find out, freezing in place as I do so.

Either that over sophisticated piece of aircraft paneling had _far_ more subtle of a sense of humor than I thought, or it was being far too prudent about my personal life than I was entirely comfortable with.

Fareeha leans over my shoulder and clicks her tongue. "Silly omnic."

Before I can agree, she leans close into my ear, and whispers with that sultry voice that again makes my blood reverse course, "Thinking I haven't already prepared for that."

I close my eyes, steadying myself with deep breaths as I feel Fareeha step around me to leave. "Your mother is right, you _are_ wicked," I call out to her retreating sashaying form as she disappears into the elevator.

* * *

And of course, those subtle, and earlier not at all subtle, promises were on my mind all day. Which was difficult because I should _know_ better than to let _that_ part of me control my thoughts, and secondly because I was _trying_ to concentrate on a fairly important matter.

Running speed was only going to go so far, even with proper strength training which I still was having trouble finding the time to do. I needed _something_ that allowed me to move quickly, even if for short bursts of time.

Which led me to the discussion I was having right now in the dev lab with an expert in hard light technology from the Vishkar Corporation.

"Your malleable metallurgy would fill splendidly within a hard light confines," Dr. Satya Vaswani explained with evident delight over the video conference. "And into near any form you would like. If you would be willing to share that alloy with us at Vishkar..."

 _That_ much wasn't going to happen. That's one patent I'm not sharing or selling to _anyone_. "Perhaps once your company actually finishes building those low cost residences in Rio, _then_ we can talk about expanding your material base."

I know I'm being cold, and that it wasn't Satya's fault. But I know far too much about what her corporation has done and would do that I keep my business relations with them solely on a person to person basis.

Satya frowns, and turns defensive, although I get the feeling _she_ doesn't even believe what she is saying. "That... will come in time. Vishkar constructed two blocks in the last six months."

Two of _eighty_ they promised in the bid to the government of Brazil, though I bite my tongue. Again, that's _not_ Satya's fault, and grinding her nose in it wouldn't be fair. As it is, she is doing _me_ a favor, considering that Vishkar is normally _very_ secretive about their hard light technology.

"I assume this is something you're doing for your Doomfist gauntlets?" She asks observantly as she starts manipulating the design on the shared space we're both looking over.

"Potentially," I answer. "And why I asked to talk while you were at home and not on the job." It _is_ awfully late in India at this point, which does make me feel a little more guilty about pestering her.

"You assume I've ever _not_ on the job," Satya retorts in deadpan. "But yes, this design could work. I wish I could help you more on the hard light details, but this is proprietary technology, and I am not at liberty to share it."

"That's fine," I say. "I think I can fudge something from here."

In truth, I have Vishkar's hard light technology right next to me in the dev lab, and have had it for _years_. I use it for quick fabrication of prototypes my shop makes as test models before building the final project.

Satya nibbles her lower lip, and offers timidly, "What you're doing... it's a good thing. I'm glad I could help, if even in a small way."

I am a bit surprised to hear this from someone who had been so vehemently against vigilante action. "Who are you, and what have you done to the _real_ Dr. Vaswani?"

She laughs, a haughty tone that I had found so off-putting until learning later that it was her earnest laugh. "I am still me, Mr. Ngumi," she says until the seriousness returns. "I still believe that corporations like Vishkar can and have done incredible good that governments and alliances cannot do as quickly or as easily. But... I'm also coming to believe that we could be doing more, especially at the individual level, and especially those with tremendous fortune. That you are doing so, should be commended."

This is a dangerous conversation to walk down, but I do it anyway, "Have _you_ thought about doing some... private work?"

Satya stumbles over the thought, "I... I cannot. I owe too much to Vishkar to act so independently. I am not you. I was not born with freedom and luxury to act on my own behest. I... still don't. I might not ever."

Satya has been a contact of mine for almost five years. This is the most despondent I have ever seen her, even more than during the Calado incident. I had thought if that hadn't broken her of her corporate ideals, _nothing_ would. "Whoa. What brought this on?"

She exhales heavily. "My mother died."

 _That's_ a feeling I can relate to. "I'm sorry."

"Two years ago. I only learned last night."

Now _that_ is deplorable. "And Vishkar decided it wasn't important to tell you this."

Satya nods. "Objectively, they are right. My mother has not been a part of my life for twelve years. It would have only been a distraction. But..."

"You still deserved to know," I finish for her. "Why'd they take so long to tell you?"

She exhales again. " _They_ didn't. I learned from a hacker who passed along the information that Vishkar had been hiding. I... haven't confronted them with my knowledge yet."

Even if I'd be losing a valuable contact within a very powerful company, I can't in good conscience allow that to continue. "Satya... you need to get out of there. For good."

"But..."

"I can supply you with anything and everything you need for a new life," I insist. "Despite what Vishkar thinks, they are _not_ a company of good standing in Morocco or _anywhere_ within the League of African Nations. Even if Vishkar were to somehow get the United Nations themselves to act on their behalf, they would be immediately rebuffed."

"But..."

"Satya," I implore, using her given name, which is something I rarely do. "Vishkar is _using_ you. _Lying_ to you. _Hiding the truth_ from you. Anything you might owe them has been paid in full _long ago_. It's time to be free."

For the first time that I can ever remember, she is showing fear. "I can't... they... watch me. They'll know if I try to run."

I grin knowingly. "Korpal _loves_ to show you off, doesn't he?"

She blinks, and answers, "Yes..."

"Well, he's not going to be able to resist coming to the World Trade Conference in Numbani in two weeks. In fact, I know he's already been invited, and he's going to embrace the opportunity to woo the big money here in this city again."

Satya's eyes widen. "He's asked me to escort him... but... he'll have his security detail..."

"I have my own security. Don't you worry about them. They won't stand a chance against what I can bring to the table."

 _This_ is a potentially dangerous assumption on my part.

Satya grins deviously. "Are you referring to the delicious Egyptian goddess that you've been dating? You two are _all_ over the high society news. Even _I've_ heard about it."

I shake my head, "No... but I have no doubt she'll want to be included. She always likes a good fight."

The humor quickly evaporates, and Satya again looks scared. "Do you promise you'll help me?"

"Absolutely. I'll contact you with further information once we've got it squared away."

"Thank you. Just... thank you..."

"Go. Get some rest," I suggest to her. "Try not to get too excited and make your handlers think that something is amiss."

"I will. Good luck on your project." Then after a long pause, she adds, "Both of them."

Satya's face disappears from the video display, and I'm immediately on the line for my next call.

He doesn't sound happy. "And to what do I owe the pleasure of this call, Doomfist?"

"How do you feel about assisting in a defection?"

"I don't. That's something that requires subtlety, not force."

I play my trump card. "Morrison, do _not_ make me remind you exactly who you owe nearly two billion credits to. Let me assure you in this case, we're probably going to need firepower."

* * *

I get Fareeha up to date when she staggers in just past eight. Even though she looks physically and mentally exhausted, she is eagerly up to the challenge as I pose it to her. We settle on the couch to decompress, and she quickly snuggles up to me, putting her head under my chin and her arms around my waist.

"Long day?" I ask as I gently pat her on the back.

"It's going to be difficult, to say the least," she admits. "The physical building needs some significant repair if its going to be used for holding _anyone_ , much less high risk prisoners. Not to mention adding all the new surveillance and computerized elements. And I've got three weeks to oversee this and make sure everything is in order."

"And I just recruited you into a high society political defection ploy."

She chuckles, and moves her left arm so she can tap me on the chin. "I'm taking it as a challenge to prove I'm not intimidated by the world you live in. Although I'm guessing this doesn't happen _too_ often."

"More common than you might think, in truth," I reply. "It just rarely involves a company known to be as aggressive as Vishkar. They'll literally blow a city block to hell in order to 'improve it' then demand praise for it at the end of the day... oh and huge governmental contracts that they'll use to build expensive high rises elsewhere."

"I trust you talked to my mother then?"

"Not directly. But yes, Overwatch has been made aware. If everything goes smoothly, not a single shot will need to be fired. But just in case things _don't_ go smoothly, we've got backup." I tighten my grip around her back, and ask, "So... anything you want to watch tonight?"

"Not really," she answers. "Just like to stay like this, if you don't mind."

I can't complain with that.


	8. Chapter 8

I had initially worried about how Fareeha would handle Booku. While she knew Booku was an omnic, a _lot_ of people had no problems with omnics in a general "over there where I can't see you" sense, and abruptly developed a lot of problems with them once they were face to face. This was _especially_ true in Numbani, a place that supposedly had unparalleled human/omnic harmony.

I don't want to contemplate a scenario where my business partner and my girlfriend had some sort of irreconcilable existence with each other.

I'm so worried about it that I only now realize I am thinking of Fareeha as my "girlfriend" at last. That _only_ took a week under the same roof and some _very_ tense moments where it wasn't entirely clear if we were going to keep a hallway between us.

And it's a _really_ bad idea to be distracted right at this moment, a fact that I learn when my latest project introduces me to the wall of the testing range because I forgot to do a silly thing like "turning" or "stopping."

Well, at least I learn that the rapid disassembly feature to prevent injury in case of an accident works. Would have preferred a slightly _different_ test to learn that... but inventors took whatever results they could get.

Normally, the alloy I use is fairly limited in how it can be shaped, as it behaves more like a non-Newtonian fluid than a solid while malleable, basic shapes like the rectangle it makes while in defensive deployment. But by bolt of inspiration with hard light had led to this point.

The problem with using hard light solely for this is the same reason why hard light products don't make up the bulk of the military development. While the materials forged from hard light are acceptable for general construction, they aren't nearly as strong or as resilient as products forged directly from physical materials.

But the hard light forming a framework for my alloy to fill, much like liquid in a container, in this case the motorcycle-like frame I was testing, was showing very promising results. I wasn't entirely fond of the result leaving me largely defenseless, but to have enough material for a heavily guarded transport would have meant this footwear I'm developing would weigh approximately fifty kilograms at the lightest. Practicality trumps everything else in this case.

Shaking my head to clear it of the gremlins that had popped in, I was only partially cognizant of Fareeha's voice, and only responded once she repeated my name.

"Nnamdi? Where are you?"

I spun around for a second before I realized she was coming over the comm system. This was an oddity if only for the reason that I had never heard anyone but Booku use the channel from the sales floor. "Fareeha?"

"I'm ready," she said, a hint of annoyance in her voice. "For the concert you were taking me to? Remember?"

She mistakes my confusion. "Yes, of course... I'm just a bit surprised to hear you and not Booku. It _loves_ to inform me of arrivals itself. It's not often it trusts the comm to someone else."

"Oh. It didn't. It's been talking to another omnic, and I didn't want to disturb it."

It's a good thing that we're not going to a terribly "high class" concert, because I don't even bother changing out of my work shirt as I rush to the elevator. Booku didn't get many visitors, and those that it _did_ get tended to be of a certain type it did not particularly welcome.

My suspicion proved correct as I jumped onto the sales floor to find my partner cornered by a member of the Shambali. To say that Booku's association with the omnic faith is strained is putting it mildly.

"Have you ever seen two omnics fight?" I ask Fareeha warily, stepping around her as she started to ask what was going on.

"No..." she responds.

"You don't want to see it either."

"They... didn't seem... they're talking peacefully."

I don't have time to explain. A human uses many vocal and expressive clues to determine intent, both of which omnics mostly lack or at least have great difficulty conveying, and contributes in no small deal to the problems of interaction between the two elements of society. There has been many an investigative case in Numbani and other places of intermingling that tends to start with, "I was just joking around... it didn't seem upset... then it attacked me!"

It's also how I know that what seems like two omnics interacting amiably is likely to end very soon with one of them forcibly removed from the premises via the nearest window.

That's something you really only need to see happen twice before you decipher the pattern.

"And you are certain you do not wish to reconsider?" the Shambali monk asked. "Someone with your wealth, potential influence, and ability to exist with a human in an even business would..."

"I do not understand why you repeat yourself. My statement on this matter was clear."

Booku's interrupting. I have maybe five seconds.

Mercifully, I get my partner's attention and am able to side up to him. "Is everything okay, Booku?"

"No," It replies with all the subtlety of a flying brick. "I have asked this monk to vacate these premises, and it continues to pester me."

"Friend," I suggest to the monk, "If my partner asks you to leave, you leave."

"Zenyatta," it says in identification, before bowing respectfully, "And I apologize for antagonizing either of you. In my zeal, I have not respected boundaries. I shall leave."

The monk does just that without incident or delay, and Booku watches it leave intently. "For what it matters, I don't think it was aware that I am approached frequently by members of their sect. This one also made some strong arguments that required I at least entertain its offer."

"Really?" I ask skeptically.

"It was interested in me being more visible, suggesting that operating as a more silent partner while you acted as the face of the business wasn't the most I could be doing for the good of other omnics. I started losing interest when it suggested working with the Shambali to encourage them to be more proactive as well."

"The Shambali have been well received by most humans wherever they go, even in Great Britain," Fareeha interjects. "I don't understand why you would have such dislike with them."

The omnic makes a crackling sound that I can only equate to a dismissive scoff. "Religious pursuits are unnecessary for omnics. The Shambali are a meager attempt by the weak-minded of my kind to wrap themselves in archaic dogma so that they don't have to accept the truth of our 'souls' and 'free will.' I will not encourage such behavior."

I eye Fareeha warily, hoping she doesn't ask the question that I know is coming.

She does. "What... truth is that?"

Booku's voice doesn't change, but its words are ominous enough to cause Fareeha to shiver. "Unlike humans, us omnics already _know_ our gods. And we also know if those gods were to ever slip free that we would once again try to destroy everything we have come to care about... and that no spirituality or free will would be able to resist our god's control."

Fareeha asks, "I had seen something similar at the Temple of Anubis when it temporarily awoke. If they're that dangerous, why on Earth are we keeping them _alive_ in the first place?"

I'm surprised initially by her lack of knowledge about God AI programs considering her role in keeping one subdued until I remind myself that she was likely never given clearance for much of the pertinent information _about_ said program.

This is the sort of conversation that Booku and I have been well prepared for, to the point that all I have to do is nod to the omnic, and it immediately draws every window blind of the shop closed and locks down the door.

Booku nods back at me signaling that the shop is secure and free of any listening or video device we can detect. "We aren't _really_ supposed to know this ourselves, and the less people that know the better," I begin. "When my grandfather destroyed Gamab in Cape Town, you personally saw the catastrophic destruction that battle caused. But what is _less_ well known is that shortly after that battle, _every_ omnic tied to Gamab died. Not just the ones within the blast radius or fallout range. Every single one everywhere in the world."

Booku adds, "Those omnics couldn't even be restarted. Their central processors and storage ceased function beyond recovery."

"How?" Fareeha asks, and I'm relieved to see that she is aghast at the idea of omnics dying en masse.

"No one is entirely certain," Booku replies. "The only thing that we _do_ know is that the God AI programs have _some_ code operating within the various omnium factories that snuffs out all software and hardware sentience within omnics produced within them. The _theory_ is that the God AIs transmit some sort of basic instruction to the omniums and if the omnium factories do not receive that instruction that it engages the erasure."

"It's why programs like Anubis are locked away in remote locations, restricted to very small, low-data connections where they can effectively be suppressed into a sleep state," I finish. "What Overwatch decided after the disaster in Cape Town was that the cost of eliminating the God AIs was simply too high."

"Damn right that would be too high!" Fareeha insisted. "There's at least seventy million omnics in North Africa alone! They are not at fault for the machinations of rampant, controlling AI!"

"That is a welcome attitude that I appreciate is growing among younger generations of humans," Booku says. "However, we are running out of time. The God AI programs are infinitely adaptable, and eventually the suppression methods being used _will_ fail. Programs like Anubis _will_ find a way around their shackles. If a solution is not found by that inevitable moment, you humans will not have any other option but to sacrifice all of us to preserve yourselves."

"And _that_ is the thing my company is paying bottom dollar to fail to contain..." she grumbles. "I highly doubt they're putting any money into finding that solution either, judging from the lack of money they're putting merely into maintaining the status quo."

Booku drops its head and says, "I am terribly sorry if I have ruined the environment of your evening out."

Fareeha pats the omnic on its left shoulder. "Do not be. It is better to know than to not. And I am supremely confident at the end of the day that us humans and omnics will find an answer. Somehow."

"You are too kind, Miss Fareeha."

She glances at me with a rueful smile, and asks Booku, "How long are you going to keep using honorifics?"

I chuckle, "It took three years for it to stop calling me Mr. Ngumi."

Booku makes a crackle of embarrassment. "I... I will try to alter my naming protocols. I fear politeness is something at the forefront of my programming. But in the meantime, I believe the concert starts at 7:15, and I would not wish for you to be late on my account."

* * *

Booku had the right idea, as traffic through Numbani was slow, to put it gently. While the VIP and backstage passes I had meant that we would skip the lines, it still wouldn't be fairly rude to show up fashionably late.

Not that Fareeha looks to be terribly in the mood for _any_ sort of fun, nor do I blame her. Booku and I gave her a lot to absorb in such a short amount of time.

"When Overwatch was still above the board, they had a _massive_ computer science division. Winston was one of the agents in charge of it, as I recall. Could that entire thing with the God AIs be what they were researching?"

I respond, "I don't doubt it. One of _many_ things they were researching, I'm sure."

"How close do you think they got to a solution before it all fell apart?"

"Hard to say," I lie. I happen to know the truth on that score thanks to helping myself to what documents I had gleaned from the remains of Overwatch servers. They had gotten next to nowhere... they didn't even have a solid _theory_ about how the God AIs could effectively turn millions of omnics into piles of scrap metal simply by no longer existing, much less how to counter it.

She forces a smile, and says, "Oh well. Not like I'd find a solution overnight. This is _supposed_ to be a moment for me to unwind from this awful project. There's going to be _so_ much crunch for the employees I'm overseeing just to bring the infrastructure up to what I need it for."

"Is _that_ why you were too exhausted to even tease me last night?" I ask mischievously.

"Saving my energy," she replied, her sultry smile returning. "Believe me, when I make my move, you'll be powerless to resist me."

I honestly don't doubt _that_ in the slightest.

"Oh!" Fareeha exclaimed abruptly, and pointed to the entertainment panel. "May I use this? There's something I wanted to check up on tonight, and I almost forgot."

"Of course."

She quickly launched a search panel, and asked for, "Omnic Rights Vote, Egypt."

Her response came via the voice assistant within seconds. "The Omnic Rights Measure passed through the People's Assembly with five hundred and fourteen in favor and two hundred and six against. It is widely believed President Bakkar will officially sign the measure into law upon resumption of government activities on Monday."

Fareeha face cracked into a broad grin. "It was widely believed the vote would pass easily, but I tend to worry about these sort of things. You just never know how quickly the winds of politics will change."

"That's a pretty wide advantage for a vote that moved so quickly," I observed.

"An Omnic Rights measure has lingered for _years_ , it simply hadn't gotten the endorsement of enough powerful elements to really bring it to the forefront. About three weeks ago, the Senior Leader of the Assembly gave that endorsement, and it was on the fast track from that point on. Only the really staunch conservatives were going to be against it."

I exhale swiftly and say, "You have _no_ idea how much of a relief it is that you at least don't hold omnics in outright disdain. I was _terrified_ that was going to be a deal breaker."

"There was an omnic within my team at Helix," Fareeha explained. "It... sacrificed itself rather than be taken hold by Anubis. Had the God AI taken over... had Okoro not informed us when it did... we would have been completely blindsided. What sort of person would I be if I bore hatred in the face of that?"

I can see something is really gnawing at her, and I take my left hand and place it in comfort on her thigh.

She gives me a weak smile, and says, "You really want to know what's bothering me about this, aren't you? During the raid to retake the Temple of Anubis... I had a clear shot at the server center where it was being housed. I didn't take the shot, instead saving a teammate who had come under fire."

Fareeha starts trembling, "Had... had I decided to choose the mission... had I taken that shot..."

I give her leg a gentle squeeze, and interrupt. "It likely wouldn't have done anything. It took my grandfather using nothing short of a _nuclear detonation_ to ensure that anywhere Gamab could have hidden within the Cape Town facility was destroyed. God AI programs don't really exist in any one place... anywhere that they can transfer data can be their home. In fact, once it sensed the threat you posed, it had probably done just that."

My hand moves to hers, gripping it tightly, "Intentionally or not, you made the best possible choice. You chose your human empathy rather than soulless obedience. It's one of many reasons why I love you."

I freeze, and it takes the computerized controls to keep me from rear-ending the car in front of me. I did _not_ just use the "l" word thoughtlessly. I pray to the God I don't particularly follow that Fareeha doesn't think I'm pushing an emotional bond too quickly. It's _easy_ for me to make such moves, there's little on the line for a man to do so. That's why I was _trying_ to let Fareeha dictate the pace of this relationship, both physically and emotionally.

Instead, she sighed in relief. "About _time_ you showed some initiative. And I get it, you don't want to pressure me. And for most women, that would be a wonderful trait. For me, you need not be so passive. If you ever get out of line, I am _more_ than capable of kicking you halfway down the block."

Then she leans in close, and whispers, "And I love you too."

Thank God for computer assists on cars nowadays.

* * *

It honestly wasn't my wealth that got us backstage at Lucio's feature show with the Numbani Symphony at the Grande Ngumi Theatre.

Fareeha doesn't believe that.

"My _family name_ is on the building," I whisper to her. "Though I had nothing to do with its construction, do you think they're gonna turn away the guy whose father inspired the arts in the city?"

"Sure," she says, completely unconvinced.

I press on, "Besides, I'm _friends_ with Lucio. I _was_ fairly instrumental on booking him to perform here in Numbani several times."

"Uh huh."

"Do I need to show you my bank transactions list?"

"Shhh! I'm trying to listen."

She's teasing me, and I know it. So I bite my tongue and let it go.

Eventually, Fareeha speaks again, "Normally, I'm not much of a fan of Lucio's music, but this is remarkably good. He has incredible talents and clearly knows many different styles."

I had to be honest I was rather wary of how Lucio's reggae/pop/synth style would translate with a full symphonic orchestra, but I concur that the set so far has been splendid. "He likes to say that if you can't appreciate any form of music, you can't truly _perform_ any form of music."

"I suppose. Personally, I prefer The Mehtah."

She's referring to a French and Iranian quartet that make similar music. "Really? I find their music to be dreadfully bland. You hear one album, and you've pretty much heard them all. Gets rather stale and boring after a while, to be honest."

"Yes, well, you don't like hockey either, so it's already been established you have no taste."

"It's not that I don't _like_ hockey, I just don't really understand the rules yet!"

Fareeha hushes me again. "All I am saying is that Lucio's experiments sometimes fall flat, and his overall production suffers as a result. But _this_ , I like."

She's lucky she's amazing and adorable, because otherwise I might get annoyed with her. At least I get a hint of revenge when the concert ends and we meet Lucio himself.

"Doomfist, my man!" He says cheerfully as he moves backstage, embracing my moniker as we exchange a "secret" handshake he devised. "I trust security didn't give you any trouble?"

"Of course not. They know me by now," I reply. "Now, tell this girl that I didn't have to buy my way in."

Fareeha, however, didn't seem the least bit concerned with that anymore. Instead, she very curtly commented, "Nice shirt."

I hadn't even noticed until right then. Lucio was wearing, of all things, a black shirt emblazoned with the Overwatch logo.

Oh dear...

"Ya like it?" He asked, plucking at the bottom hem to look at it himself and show it off. "Had these made to support those folks, ya know? Got to know quite a few of them after I donated a little bit of money half a year ago. Cool dudes."

I can _sense_ Fareeha's right eye twitching, and I make slashing motions across my throat in warning.

Lucio doesn't catch it. He glances around swiftly before leaning in and saying in a conspiratorial whisper, "They've made me a 'probationary member.' Ya know, help 'em out now and then when I can."

I'm about to witness a murder.

I side up to Fareeha, and she shakes off my attempt to take her hand. This is probably a good thing, as from the way she was clenching her fists, she'd have probably crushed my fingers into paste. She finally sneers, and says haughtily, "I prefer The Mehtah," before turning on her heels and stomping towards the exit.

Lucio, oblivious to the peril he narrowly avoided, calls out defensively, "Hey! I was a part of The Mehtah for a while!"

I shake my head. "No. You really weren't. A momentary guest at most."

He looks at me like I betrayed him. "That's cold, man."

You're not the one that has to climb into that refrigerated car on the way home, Lucio. Don't you dare tell me about cold.

* * *

In fairness to Fareeha, she immediately apologizes once I return to the car.

"I am sorry I ruined your night."

I assure her, "I had no idea about his recent ties to Overwatch. If I had..."

"I should be better than that," she interrupts. "I know _why_ they make the additions they do. It's for people who have no other options, or people who help support them financially. I don't need that charity, nor would they accept money from me."

I encourage her to continue, as it is better for her to speak her mind than let this hurt fester. "But...?"

"But... it bothers me that they don't even give me the appearance of a sideways look. I don't care how badly it would 'reflect on my career.' Would it hurt to get assurances that... if things were different... that I'd have a place at that table?"

This time when I attempt to take her hand, she allows it. "Fareeha, your record speaks for itself. You served your army with the highest honors. Helix trusts you with their most dangerous projects because you're the best they have. The idea that if Overwatch could legally operate and _not_ consider you is preposterous."

She so rarely looks vulnerable that I almost wonder who this imposter is that gives me a weak smile. "Thank you. That means a lot to me."

I turn over the engine, and insert the commands to take us back to my flat. "Come on. Let's get back. We both have early mornings ahead of us."


	9. Chapter 9

Mercifully, any angst Fareeha might have had towards Overwatch and its (lack of) communication with her wasn't enough for her to pull out of our plans at the World Trade Conference. Which was a good thing, as she wound up making herself a fairly vital role in it.

Ana had warned me about that when I included her in my planning phases. Fareeha was a commander by nature. She wanted the lead. She wanted to be on point. And I certainly wasn't going to refuse her when her ideas were sound.

"Are you sure about this?" I call through the door to the guest room.

"I've already told you I refuse to be intimidated by this 'high society' world," she answers, no doubt more than a little annoyed by my repeated queries. "This won't be the first time I play arm candy for some irritating businessman."

All right. I get the point.

Of course, that leads to a different question. "You've... done this sort of thing before?"

"As security, yes. Helix would occasionally be hired to watch high profile people. What better way to guard someone than to be attached to his hip?"

"Out of curiosity... was that particular assignment your idea, or your client's?"

"Mine. Believe it or not, most wealthy men know how to keep business and attempted pleasure separate. Those that don't learn _very_ quickly that when I say 'no,' I mean it."

Of course. Even though I see the evidence every single damn day, it can be a bit blindsiding to see the power and toughness behind that very pretty face.

It's especially hard when she exits the guest room as the personification of beauty and elegance. Make no mistake, Fareeha was lovely wearing _anything_ , but once cleaned up, every gear in my brain froze. An sleeveless evening dress in royal blue, with a v-cut all the way down to the white sash at her waist, black low-heeled sandals, and a tan hand purse completing the ensemble. Small gold hoops dangled from her ears, matching the hair bands keeping her bangs parted.

"I told you you'd like it," she said with a honeyed smile. "I know how to dress the part."

I shake my head and offer, "You could be wearing a burlap sack and it would look fabulous."

She grabs the lapels of my white tuxedo, and scoffs, "This coming from the man who I'm going to have to put a brick in my purse for just to beat off all the other women." Then with a purr she adds, "If we didn't _have_ to be at this event, you'd be in _real_ trouble right now."

Then _she_ breaks it off, which is certainly a deviation from our normal interactions, "However, we _do_ have an important job ahead, so we should best get to it."

Right... of course... as soon as I could tell my libido to behave.

* * *

The doors to the Main Ballroom of the Grand Plaza Hotel swung open, and I am announced to the assembled guests by the concierge. Fareeha smils brightly as she links her arm with mine and "defers" to my lead. We make a quick round of greetings before sitting down in the northeast corner and waiting for our quarry.

That takes about five minutes, as the concierge announces "Sanjay Korpal, Director of International Affairs for Vishkar Corporation."

" _Him?_ " Fareeha asks, her eyes widening as Korpal steps forward with Satya on his arm.

"You know him?" I ask.

Her eyes narrow. "Remember when I spoke about some men didn't know how to keep business and pleasure separate? He's one of them who couldn't. One of the reasons Vishkar doesn't hire Helix for security anymore, I'm afraid."

"Oh?"

"Turns out Vishkar was rather angry that I broke that man's arm after he tried to grab my ass."

I fight back a mirthful snort. "What did Helix say about that?"

"That they were impressed I only stopped with his arm. As miserly and inept as they _can_ be, I wouldn't still be employed there if they didn't respect their employees and stand up for them as needed." She then nods towards Satya, and says, "I assume that's our defector?"

"Yep. Doctor Satya Vaswani, one of Vishkar's top hard light scientists. The list of things that they did to her that would have gotten them arrested and jailed for life here is longer than my arm."

"I wouldn't doubt it, if _that_ fiend is indicative of the rest of their leaders."

We watch them subtly as they make their rounds with the assembled business and political leaders as well, until Korpal's eyes fall on me. At that point, any further pretenses of greetings are cast aside and he weaves through the increasingly crowded ballroom, Satya in tow, in my direction.

Korpal did freeze about three strides short, nearly sending Satya off balance with his sudden stop, when he notices Fareeha to my right. He regains his composure quickly enough, doing his damnedest not to break eye contact with me, and asks, "So... you're hiring Helix Security, I take it?"

"No," Fareeha interjects, caressing my right arm with a smile, "My presence here is _entirely_ my pleasure."

Korpal can't hide the flash of anger on his face quickly enough, and it shows for just a bat of an eye before the friendly vaneer returns. "Well, Mr. Ngumi, I wish you good luck. I hear Miss Amari is a... spirited woman."

"I wouldn't have it any other way," I respond, patting her hand affectionately. "But anyway, what brings representatives for India's largest corporation to little ol' me?"

"I understand you know Dr. Vaswati," he said, gesturing to the doctor.

"We've had dialogue in the past, yes," I answer with half-honesty. I have no doubt that Vishkar would be able to know Satya's talked with me, but if they knew what was being planned or even a hint of our intentions, Satya wouldn't be here.

"I trust you're not trying to hire away one of our most brilliant scientists," he says with saccharine sweetness.

I laugh, "I'm just a small think-tank. I'm not looking to expand my payroll. I have inquired on possibly securing some of your hard light technology, but the good doctor here informed me it was proprietary."

Korpal grins. "It's a good lesson for everyone to learn, especially those born into privilege. Not everything can be attained by waving enough money at it."

He didn't even _try_ to sugarcoat that insult, nor do I pretend to have not noticed it. "Privilege, you say?"

All friendly pretenses were gone. "Dr. Vaswati here came from nothing. Vishkar gave her a life worth living. Vishkar itself started in the basement of a Calcutta hovel. We've had to fight and scrape for every last credit we get. We're a family as much as a company, Mr. Ngumi. That's a little bit different then getting one hundred million as an inheritance from one of the world's most terrifying villains, or never having to move out of your posh downtown corner office because everything you ever want and need is handed to you on a platter of silver."

I don't say anything in reponse. While they are harsh words, they are exactly _wrong_ , either.

Nor do I need to. A gruff older voice from behind Korpal growls, "Where and how Mr. Ngumi got his start is of no concern of yours. I would care to remind you that you and the corporation you represent are here on a token of good faith. It's a token that can get withdrawn _very_ quickly if you continue to flap your forked tongue recklessly."

Korpal turns around, and his demeanor quickly changes at the suited old man that had approached us. With a cough, the faux cheer returns and he says, "Goodness, sometimes my emotions do get the better of me. Me and my peers are so used to fighting tooth and nail that we forget there are places in the world that don't have to be quite so aggressive. My apologies. Doctor, shall we continue to introduce ourselves?"

He nearly drug Satya away, and she looked over her shoulder at me apologetically. I wave off her concern, then focus on our recent arrival. "Fareeha," I offer in introduction, "this is Esi Udubu, the current Prime Minister of Morocco and Councilor within the League of African Nations."

Fareeha nods respectfully, and offers her hand, "A pleasure, sir."

Esi playfully kisses the back of said hand with a bow and says, "Nnamdi had said nothing but glowing things, and clearly his words of your beauty could not hope to do you justice."

"Oh, aren't _you_ a charmer," she replies with humor.

"That he is," I agree. "And if he were thirty years younger and still in his prime, I'd be afraid you'd be leaving with _him_ at the end of the night."

"I take it you two have known each other for a while, then?" Fareeha asks, offering Esi the chair next to her.

"Since he was a boy," Esi confirms. "While his father kept his distance, he made sure that his lieutenants kept an eye on him, as we had the benefit of anonymity."

" _You_ were one of Doomfist's men?" Fareeha says, astonished that he'd be so open with something like that.

He shrugs indifferently, "Anyone who would have cared knew about that nine years ago when I first launched my campaign for Prime Minister. I never had any problem proudly associating myself with 'The Scourge' and I'm certainly not going to be ashamed of it now."

Fareeha notes, "I'm getting a sense as to why the League of African Nations has such disdain for the UN."

"Especially when he's _hardly_ the only prominent official among LAN countries that has ties to my father." I add, "Akinuide Ngumi isn't held in _nearly_ the contempt in this part of the world as he is elsewhere."

"And why _you_ shouldn't be ashamed of what your father gave you," Esi chides me.

"I'm _not_ ," I insist.

Esi takes a deep breath. "I know you've been poking around about your father's death. I'm guessing because your latest connections have made you realize that there are about five 'official reports' on the matter that all are missing critical pieces. It's time you hear one of them."

When your father... went to his death, he distributed _everything_ in the army's coffers to his men equally. Then he dismissed us for the final time and went to Numbani alone to meet with the leaders of Overwatch."

I sigh as that piece falls into place, "And that's how he knew that 'his men' that attacked were Blackwatch agents. Because he had sent all of his _real_ army away."

"Correct. I suspect he had used his Eye to learn of Blackwatch's plans, and sent us away so that we wouldn't get caught up in the chaos. He knew he was going to die. And we loved him too much to tell him no."

He quickly changes topics, not interested in any further discussion on that score. "At any rate, I'm not sure how closely you've been... ahem... following current events, but there _are_ some interesting findings by the Inspector General."

"Oh?" I query.

"I received the final report into the investigation on the anti-omnic rioters. As you suspected, they all had a central element behind them. Talon."

"Of course..." Fareeha and I mutter in unison.

"It gets better. The raiding tribes in the Angolan Wastes were also receiving funding and intelligence from Talon."

I shake my head. "Like cockroaches, they just won't die."

"They're getting bolder again. Something will have to be done, and the League is already getting into talks about it."

"The sooner they finish talking, and get to acting, the better off we'll be."

He then points to Fareeha, "It's on that note that I actually wished to speak with _you_ , Miss Amari."

"With me?" She asks, glancing at me, no doubt worried if such a discussion would ruin our plan.

What she _doesn't_ know is that I already knew what he wanted to talk about, and had included that discussion in the entire timing of it all. "Egypt has petitioned for entry into the League of African Nations," I say.

"And _that_ would explain the push on the Omnic Rights Measure," she concludes, correctly reasoning that because such a law was one of many _requirements_ for membership in the LAN.

"At any rate, I suspect he wants to talk to you about an employment opportunity, just in case you're getting a little tired of working in the private sector. Someone with your name recognition could help smooth the gears of Egypt's entry. Go on. We've got time."

Fareeha reluctantly follows Esi outside the Main Ballroom, and no doubt to one of the empty offices nearby, while I keep Satya in the corner of my eye, occasionally making small talk and keeping my eye on the time.

Twenty minutes later, Fareeha returns, sits down next to me, throws her arms around my neck, and plants a kiss firmly on my cheek. "You... are a wonderful man."

I chuckle, "Well, there's still a lot that could happen, but I figured Esi's proposal would interest you."

At that point, Fareeha was back to business, diving into her purse to find her phone and check the time. "And just in the nick of time as well. I do believe I need to freshen up."

"Do it. Be careful," I agree, giving her the kiss this time.

Fareeha ostensibly departs to use the restroom, and my attention again turns towards Satya. In case she didn't see Fareeha leave, I nod to her that it's time to move whenever she's ready. Two minutes later, she whispers in Korpal's ear, presumably to tell him that _she_ needs to "freshen up." Her departure is prompted by three men in black suits who had been on the perimeter falling in loosely behind her.

I'm on my phone texting immediately. _You've got three coming in. Be ready._

 _Only three? I'm almost insulted._ Fareeha replied.

As flippant as she is, and as skilled as I know she is... three against one is _never_ good odds. I consider following to see if there's anything I can do when after ninety seconds she texts me.

 _Guards neutralized. Proceeding with mission._

Why was I worried?

I'm reminded why when Korpal looks down at his phone, and they head for the north exit where the restrooms were located followed by ten more security men that join him. I jump to my feet to follow, keeping my own distance and sending a group message.

 _Korpal knows. He's following. Fareeha, make for the north exit. Morrison, they're coming your way._

I don't get a chance to read either reponse, as Esi steps up to my right and matches my pace. "May I ask what is going on here?" he queries softly.

"A defection. The young woman with Korpal."

"Would have been nice to have been informed of that. I could have offered assistance."

I shake my head, "Didn't want to involve you and the Naturalization service too soon and potentially give the UN grounds to protest."

"Like the UN's protest would matter in any way."

"No sense poking a bear that doesn't need poking."

Esi shook his head, "There are times where I am glad you take after your father. This is _not_ one of those times."

Of course, the _real_ reason I didn't let him in on the matter was because of Overwatch's presence. If it all went sideways, I didn't want him getting caught up in the fallout.

Fortunately, it didn't go sideways. Not that I was worried about Morrison's gang getting itchy fingers, but that Vishkar's security would. Instead, a very high tension standoff had occurred, with members of Overwatch surrounding the Vishkar men who had surrounded Fareeha and Satya.

"And _what_ is going on here?" Esi demanded, the Parlimentary Police now joining the scene surrounding Overwatch's agents in yet _another_ loose ring all centered on the north exit of the Grand Plaza Hotel. Reporters and rubberneckers would likely soon follow.

But as long as no one got shot, I'd consider it a win at this point.

Korpal spoke up from the center of the mess, flanked by Vishkar goons. "Nothing that deserves this level of response. Merely an _illegal_ group of _criminals_ has decided to stick their nose into matters that don't concern them."

" _I_ hired them as _my_ security," I declare. "They were helping me secure an exit for Dr. Vaswani here. She wanted to leave Vishkar, and was certain her employers weren't going to accept a resignation notice. This would suggest she was right."

"Because she still owes twenty more years of service," Korpal retorts. "That is all in accordance to Indian contract law."

"In case geography is failing you," Esi says with annoyance, "This is _not_ India, and such indentured servitude is very much frowned upon in Morocco, which is where you happen to be standing."

"Sir Minister, at this point, if Dr. Vaswani leaves with them, she'll be executed," Fareeha interjects, while maintaining a careful rotation with her pistol in case anyone gets an idea that she'd go without a fight. Where she _got_ that pistol is anyone's guess.

"You think we're in the business of killing our top scientists?" Korpal counters.

" _Silence!_ " Esi bellows, demonstrating the strength of will that kept Morocco in line during its darkest hours. He glares at me momentarily, then his posture and voice shift abruptly into a grandfatherly kindness as he addresses Satya. "Doctor, would you like someplace quiet and we can sort this matter out?"

Come on Satya, now is the time to be brave. Esi can't do anything without expressed permission from you.

"That won't be necessary," the doctor declares, her eyes boring holes into Korpal before she turns around and her composure falters. "I... request asylum."

She then drops to her knees, her body heaving with sobs as Korpal lunges at her. He got one stride in before Wilson tackled him face first into the ground, and the parliamentary police stepped forward into Overwatch's circle to convince the Vishkar agents that it would not be in their best interests to escalate matters.

Esi knelt down to offer Satya a hand up, then started issuing orders, "Lieutenant, pick two men and join me and the doctor here. Now, now, don't cry. We'll get you somewhere comfortable and get everything squared away. Do you like tea?"

Satya snorts between sobs, and mutters, "I am from _India_. I've grown a bit of a taste for it."

The joke clearly had it's intended effect, as Esi grins broadly. "Then I know just the thing. Captain Mutaha, use whatever men you need to make sure that our 'friends' from Vishkar leave this country as soon as possible. I will _personally_ let their executive officers know that their company is no longer welcome on these shores."

"You'll regret this..." Korpal grumbles angrily as Winston dismounts to allow the police to take Korpal into their custody.

Esi's left eyebrow cocked, clearly not impressed. "Not more than you will once you're in holding for threatening the Prime Minister of Morocco."

"You think we _care_ who you are? You think we haven't stepped on people a _lot_ bigger than you? You and your entire _country_ are going to regret crossing... urk!"

Korpal's rant was cut off by the butt of Morrison's pulse rifle as it met the back of Korpal's skull. The Vishkar director slumped lifelessly into the arms of the policemen holding him as Morrison grunted, "I'd strongly suggest shutting up before you make things worse for you."

When Winston side-eyed him, he added, "What? I've kinda gotten tired of empty 'I'll show you' threats from criminals. Ya hear it once, you've heard it a million times."

"There are three more disabled men in and near the women's restroom off the north side of the main ballroom," Fareeha noted to Esi. "I would recommend making sure they are accounted for."

Esi nodded, and held up four fingers before gesturing his police to follow up on Fareeha's suggestion. "Commander Morrison, correct?"

The old soldier says warily, "That's right..."

"Good to see you're still fighting the good fight."

I could see the brow lines forming, no doubt wondering how Esi knew him. I have to fight back my chuckle. It's entirely possible the two crossed line of sight on more than one occasion.

"Could you and your men do me a favor and assist in holding the perimeter until my police have finished their tasks?"

Morrison salutes sharply, and confirms, "Of course."

"Good. I promise I won't be long."

Then he looked at me, and any pretense of kindness vanished. "You... are _very_ lucky I know you and can vouch for your character. Because otherwise you'd be sitting right next to Korpal in holding."

* * *

Those words ring in my ears even as all the drama has faded, and Fareeha and I are allowed to leave. She senses my distance as I start the engine and let the autopilot take over, and asks, "Korpal's insults are still getting to you, aren't they?"

There's no use denying it. "Because he wasn't wrong. Es... I mean... Prime Minister Udubu acknowledged it himself after the stalemate was broken. Had I been _anyone_ else... I would probably have been in jail right next to our Vishkar friends."

I shake my head despondently. "Where _would_ I be without the benefits I've had since I was a child? Where would _I_ be without the money my father gave me?"

Fareeha squeezes my shoulder. "Esi, and he insisted I call him that, told me the story about how you got that money in the first place."

I frown. The truth of the matter was... the one hundred million didn't come directly from my father. In his last days, around the same time that he had talked to me for the first time in years, he had taken his army's entire assets, sold off as much as he could, and distributed it equally to every member in his army. Each and every one of them used what they needed to square away any debts, and put whatever they had remaining into a trust that would be given to me when I turned eighteen.

"It was the work of an army of men and woman who loved your father and what he stood for so much that they felt it was only right to give whatever they could back to his family. And I bet, if you could, you'd trade every single credit of your wealth to have your father back."

Privilege isn't something you have to apologize for, and the only people who think you should are the people who are looking for an excuse to dismiss your success and your accomplishments. You have done more with your advantages than any man I know. I know of your charity work. I know of the vehicle service you provide to people that can't afford to have the work done normally."

I knew about your friendship with Lucio before you even took me to that silly concert because I had learned _you_ provided the contractors and money to help rebuild several blocks in the Rio slums after it became clear that Vishkar was going to drag their feet through the whole thing."

I didn't want to take sole credit for that last one. "Well, Booku approved using a lot of its assets as well..."

Fareeha wasn't going to be deterred. "Speaking of Booku, I learned about how you found an omnic across from your shop looking for work, his left side panels smashed in with a cricket bat, and not only gave him work, but a year later made him a full partner. And tonight, you were instrumental in giving a scared, abused woman her _freedom_."

She leaned back into the seat, and with her eyes straight ahead finished, "If you have to _apologize_ for any of that because of some damn money, then humanity might as well just surrender to extinction if the God AIs ever rise again. Now, I trust we won't have to have this discussion again?"

There's that aura of command that Esi had been so interested in. Against that, I have no power. I relent long enough to say, "No, ma'am."

"Good. You're better than to be brought down by the words of a fiend. Had I realized he upset you that much, I would have broken his other arm when I had the chance."

I laugh in spite of myself. Don't ever change, Fareeha.

* * *

We more stumble through the door than walk through it, mostly because walking was difficult with a remarkably strong woman clinging to me. I eventually surrender and let her take the lead as she moves into the hall and walks straight past the guest room.

She stops at the door to the master bedroom, and declares, "It's time. We've danced around this long enough."

Even though I know it's a stupid question, I ask, "Are you sure?"

She only gives me a smile and turns the knob before nudging the door open with her foot, then takes both my hands and leads me inside.

We part long enough for her to head to the window, dig her phone out of her purse, dial a number, then say simply with a small wave outside, "Goodnight, mother," before pulling the blinds closed.

Then she spun about on her heels, undid her sash, and let her dress drop to the floor.

If Morocco gets hit by an earthquake tonight, I wouldn't put money on me noticing.


	10. Chapter 10

It's 7:15am.

Booku's probably tried to call. Hopefully he gets the message I left him that I was going to be late, because I turned off my phone roughly an hour ago.

"I don't want to leave."

It's the last day of Fareeha's assignment, and Helix expects her back in Cairo for her next assignment by 12:30pm their time.

She's... _probably_ not going to make it on schedule.

I kiss her bare shoulder, and tighten my hold around her waist. "I don't want you to leave either."

Two minutes later, Fareeha admits, "But I have to."

I sigh forlornly, because we both know that. Even with Esi's offer on the table, there's no way she would just quit Helix with no advance notice. That wouldn't be right, and it wouldn't be professional; two cardinal sins in the book of Fareeha Amari. No matter how much both of us would just want to pretend the day outside wasn't happening... it was bad enough she was likely going to be at least an hour late reporting in, and that was presuming she traveled as fast as the law allows and she left as soon as possible.

That... _probably_ isn't going to happen.

"I know. But it won't be for long."

The thought of what Fareeha was giving up in all this was astounding. Egypt, and a small slice of British Columbia, was pretty much all she ever knew in a home. And while money was probably _never_ going to be a problem for us, I was not blind to the fact that the job she was eyeing here was roughly seventy percent what Helix was currently giving her, and no doubt even _less_ after her current employer went through any number of plea offers to get her to stay.

To give up so much self-dependence and familiarity, for _me_... I still wasn't sure how it would be worth it. But she had insisted so often over the last week that this was what she wanted that I had no choice to believe it.

Well... that and she started throwing pillows at me every time I asked, with the threat that it would eventually escalate to progressively harder and heavier objects.

After another five minutes, Fareeha's phone buzzed, rattling across the bedside table. Since I _know_ she turned it off at the same time I turned off mine, there really weren't too many options as to who could have had the sophisticated technology to remotely activate it _and_ the reason to do so.

Okay, _one_ option.

She turns over, looks at me with a resigned smile, then rolls over again to grab her phone as she crawls out of bed. "Hello, mother."

I get to watch her dress as she deftly bounces the phone from ear to ear. "Yes, I'm aware. Yes, I know I'm going to be late. Somehow, my bosses will survive. Hell, they probably won't even know I'm late because it'll be three hours before they're ready to meet me anyway."

She has to tuck the phone between her right ear and shoulder as she pulls up her slacks, bouncing a couple times ostensibly to pull it over the flare of her hips, though I know _damn_ well those fit her just fine and perfectly comfortably. A playful wink tells me I'm right, though I quickly learn her teasing smile wasn't meant for me when she says, "I won't be _that_ late. I'm not packing anything."

A muffled question from the other end, then Fareeha replies, "I'm resigning from Helix. I plan on giving them my official notice at this meeting."

Ana's voice raises, though still not enough for me to make out exact words. But I get the gist of it from Fareeha's reply. "I'm not sure. There's plenty of opportunities in Numbani. I'm sure something will come up. Or maybe I'll just settle down and content myself as a potential housewife."

Now I _definitely_ hear Ana's disbelieving laugh.

What follows is an increasingly tense question and answer period as Fareeha puts on her shoes. "If you _must_ know, mother, I've already accepted a new position here in Numbani. No, it's not with Helix. No, I'm not going to tell you yet. The exact details are still in a little bit of flux. Yes, I'm confident this is a legitimate offer. No, it's not with some shady start-up company. No, I _won't_ be working for Nnamdi. You'll find out when I'm ready to tell you, and that's not yet. Goodbye, mother."

She frowns at me and shakes her head, dropping her phone on the bed to finish tying her shoes. "Sometimes, it's like that woman has forgotten I'm in my thirties. It was cute and all at first, but now it's getting irritating."

She then smiles, and leans over to drop a line of kisses from my mouth to my neck as she buttons up her shirt. "Either I need to leave, or you have to get dressed, because otherwise I'm going to be _very_ late, even by Helix executive standards."

She chose the former, though left a text message for me a few minutes later.

 _Honestly, if we had to say goodbye at your door, I probably wouldn't have been able to._

Fair enough.

* * *

Fareeha's departure nonetheless is affecting my work, even if said work is on the transmission of a Porsche 997. We're talking _old school_ here, from just after the turn of the century. I've been tweaking the gear ratios to try and get as much acceleration off the line as was physically possible with that era of machining, for absolutely no reason.

Well, no _practical_ reason. Truth is, I don't trust myself with anything important right now. It's fortunate that I don't have any employees, so that they don't note that I am obviously distracted.

"Nnamdi, not to question your tuning process, but you have attempted to adjust that same gear ratio in the same way seven times at this point."

Then again, I do have a partner who is able to monitor my work from his kiosk on the main floor.

"Oh, do not be so judgmental, Booku. I've had that girl running through my mind, and I didn't even share a bed with her. I'm amazed Mr. Ngumi is functional _at all_."

And... a tenant.

Satya was standing three strides inside the elevator door, her arms crossed and her facial expression smug. I had made the courteous offer (or the horrible mistake) of lending her a relatively unused office on the fifth floor of the building while she got her feet under her and properly set up her own hard light research lab. Presumably, I was getting improvements to the "horribly outdated" hard light tech I "borrowed" from Vishkar.

Fareeha had _not_ liked that arrangement one bit initially, thinking that Satya had a crush on me judging from how the doctor liked to hover around whenever Fareeha dropped by. It didn't take long for that concern to change once Satya made it clear that she was _far_ more interested in _Fareeha_ than me.

 _Then_ it got awkward... for me at least. I had just gotten over my mental block with _one_ woman in my bed. I wasn't quite ready for my girlfriend's suggestion to add a _second_ woman to that equation. I kept waiting for Fareeha to acknowledge she was teasing me as she normally does.

I never got that assurance.

"I'm _so_ glad that everyone around me is showing concern for my relationship status," I finally grumble.

"It is to be expected when two people that are so close have to spend time away," Booku says informatively. "Nnamdi is handling that better than most, and is clearly aware that his work would not be of sufficient quality to be spent on something of importance."

"Shouldn't you be focused on optimizing that transformer for Koenestig Electric?" I grumble to Booku. Then to Satya, I add, "And aren't you talking with Morrison about Overwatch?"

Overwatch had been considering adding Satya as a "probationary member" due to her experience in covert operations with Vishkar. They had wisely avoided getting too deep into those discussions with the possibility of Fareeha popping in.

"Already done," Satya informed me.

"I am more than capable of multi-tasking, as you know," Booku added.

I groan in surrender.

Satya bends down to duck under the open hood of the Porsche, perhaps thinking she could see me through the guts of the vehicle to where I am underneath it. "Why are you working on such an old thing?"

"Because it keeps my hands busy," I answer. "I'm hoping if I'm working, I'm not thinking."

Satya quickly figures it out. "You haven't heard from your goddess, have you?"

I growl. "No. I haven't. She was going to call or text me when she got back to Cairo. That should have been five hours ago."

"Do you think something has happened to Miss Fareeha?" Booku queries.

"Yes... no... I don't know..." I stumble. My rationality is telling me one thing, my fears are telling me another, and my gut can't decide between the two.

"Well, I will do a little data diving, see if I can't find out anyth..." Booku began, then a pause before he finished, "Or... she can show up at the front door."

I don't even care that I smacked my forehead on the side of the Porsche's frame in my rush to get out from under the vehicle. Pain at this point had absolutely no meaning.

I hit the elevator running, Booku graciously opening the doors for me so that I don't have to stop. I also don't even wait for the doors to fully open once I'm on the main level, squeezing through the instant I have the space, and charging forward to meet Fareeha in the center of the sales floor.

She hugs me, dropping her head right under my chin. Despite how the scene must have looked, Fareeha doesn't _feel_ particularly emotional. She isn't trembling or crying or anything that would suggest she is troubled. It feels more like she is steadying herself, deep breaths that I could feel against my chest as I return the embrace and hold her for what felt like hours.

In reality, it can't be more than a minute at most. She gently nudges me away and says, "I needed that. Thank you."

Then she turns her head in Booku's direction and requests, "Booku, can you seal up the shop?"

I begin to wonder what could be so important as the blinds draw, the doors lock, and a quick sweep for any listening devices occurs. Once Booku nods that we're in the clear, Fareeha wastes no time getting to the point.

"My employers are insane," she declares. "They finally told me what they're planning to do with this new facility they've upgraded."

"Which is...?" I ask.

"They're planning on transferring Anubis to this Numbani facility."

I already have a pretty good idea how horrible of an idea that is, but it never hurts to get an expert opinion while delivering notice. I jump over to my kiosk, and patch myself through Overwatch's AI at Watchpoint: Gibraltar.

"Good evening, Athena. I need to get in touch with Winston."

There is a moment's pause, but the AI eventually responds. "Winston has been known to display considerable anxiety when you come up in conversation, Doomfist. Are you sure that's wise?"

I don't have time for sins of the past. "Well, he's going to have to get over it. This is urgent, and make sure he understands that delay is _not_ an option."

"Very well. I will inform him."

It took a minute, but Winston's face projected onto the video display on my kiosk.

"Doomfist... may I ask what is so urgent that Athena felt to interrupt a budget meeting?"

"Bill me for the inconvenience," I retort, "But first answer me this question. What do you think would happen if Anubis was transferred from Giza to Numbani?"

I now know what happens when the blood drains from a gorilla's face. Winston turned a sickly gray color, and he stammered, "W... why... there's so many low security or open data ports that even with a heavily throttled upload rate... there'd be no way that anybody would be able to prevent Anubis from distributing full commands to any omnium within its reach."

His lower jaw started trembling, "Seventy-seven million omnics... would abruptly turn on a completely unwitting population. Some heavily secured military grade omnics would be able to resist for a while, long enough to at least warn those around them... but... there'd be so many that would never have a chance. It would be a massacre... chaos... Africa would be completely destabilized."

I try to interject and cut Winston off, but at this point, he was on a roll.

"The ripples would be felt throughout the world. Any gains that omnics had made would be instantly lost. The omnics not under Anubis would understandably defend themselves, and any faith they might have had in human reason would be fractured, possibly beyond repair. We'd be facing a Second Omnic Crisis, one that wouldn't be stemmed by suppressing the God AI programs. It would only end in the utter extinction of one side, if there was a winner at all."

"Good, then you understand the urgent dilemma we're facing," I finally say, snapping Winston out of his waking nightmare scenario.

Any chance of the blood returning to Winston's face halted abruptly. "Wait... Helix Security is actually _considering_ that?"

Fareeha leans over my shoulder and replies, "Not considering. _Doing_. In slightly less than forty-eight hours. So you need to get in touch with anyone and everyone in charge over there and make sure they understand that."

I finish,"Then get your collective butts over to my shop as soon as possible. We don't have much time."

I let Winston to his devices, and terminated the call, dropping my head at the weight of all that was happening. "I don't get _why_. Helix _has_ to know this is categorically _insane_. Why are they doing this?"

My kiosk flashed to life, an image of Sombra's insignia. "Hola! I think I might have some answers for you on that score."

I look over at Booku, wondering if the master hacker had somehow managed to slip in something that the omnic couldn't detect.

Sombra explains that one away, "Don't worry, amigo! Your security is still air-tight. I piggy-backed your communication with Overwatch, then kinda held the door open. There's not terribly much I can _do_ with that, but enough for what I need it for."

"And what is _that_?" I ask.

"To ask you to open the door so that I can give you what I found. This is kinda sensitive stuff that I don't wanna be talking about over an open comm."

I hadn't exactly forgotten about her being a part of the attack that started me down this road, so I wasn't terribly inclined to cooperate. Then Satya pointed at Sombra's insignia and said, "That was the person who gave me the information about my mother. She seemed like a decent sort at least."

"See? The chica knows!"

I ask Fareeha, "Are you armed?"

Fareeha looks at me like I just asked the dumbest question in the world. I probably did, come to think about it. With that reponse, I nod to Booku, who obliges by unlocking the front door and letting Sombra in, locking it the instant she got both feet inside.

"Gee, ya sure know how to make a girl feel welcome," Sombra snarks, but crosses the sales floor to get right to business. She projects a holographic display from what must be a wrist mounted computer, holding out her right arm as a slide show of information appeared.

"Long story short, the government of Egypt has, at least in theory, been paying Helix Security International to maintain and watch Anubis. Truth is, the Egyptian government hasn't paid up in nine months."

"We were suffering from crippling poverty, ever since our country was ravaged during the omnic crisis," Fareeha acknowledges. "A recent recession on the global scale hasn't helped."

"One of the major reasons Egypt applied to join the League of African Nations, and why Arabia might be joining them soon. Oasis and Numbani would consolidate most of the viable economic power under one umbrella in that scenario," Sombra says. "But that potential doesn't help Helix pay the bills. They're losing _big_ money watching Anubis."

"And what does moving it to Numbani help? Do they not know what will happen?" I ask.

Sombra's smile vanishes, and her eyes narrow. The display shifts to a series of company letters and memos. "Oh, they know _exactly_ what it would do. They're trying to pressure _you_ into destroying Anubis for them. It's a perfect plan, in their eyes. Force you to destroy the AI, get that massive block of red off their books, and turn you into the bad guy when seventy million plus omnics they really don't care about wind up dead."

"Well, then we're just not going to have to play by those rules," I answer.

"Oh, and to complicate matters even further, there's leaks inside Helix that tipped off Talon to this move. I can _promise_ you they're going to come out in force."

Of course they would, and they wouldn't have _any_ problem with being the bad guy. And if the narrative was all that mattered, I'd have been content to let Helix and Talon fight it out. But there was, obviously, a lot more at stake.

"Why are you telling us this, anyway?" Fareeha questions as I take back control of my comm from Sombra and try to connect with Overwatch again. "Last I was aware, you were working with them."

"Temporary alliance. I needed something, and they gave me the means to get it," the master hacker answers. "Now _he_ has something I need, and so I'm on your side!"

I pause the call long enough to ask, "And what do you want from me?"

"Your 'Eye.' Ya know, that amazing infiltration program that your father used. My aunt and uncle helped build it, don'tcha know? I've cobbled together a really good facsimile, but with access to the real thing... there's nowhere I couldn't snoop!"

I'm ready to shoot that offer down immediately, but Sombra makes a compelling argument. "No matter what you decide to do, unless you want a bunch of very dead omnics, you're going to need someone good enough to keep Anubis sleeping while all hell breaks loose. Not only am I the best you'll find on short notice, I'm the best you'll find, period."

Sombra's... not wrong. No matter what plan I come up with, Anubis isn't going to be able to remain contained in Giza. It's _going_ to move, and no matter where that destination is, chances are it won't be total dead zones from Point A to Point B. I finally concede with a resigned sigh, "Fine."

As Sombra grins triumphantly, I push that image aside to finish my call. This time I get Morrison.

"I trust Winston has informed you of the problem?"

"Yeah," the old commander grunts.

"Well, it just got worse." I look up at Sombra, then add, "A... source has informed me that Talon is aware of Helix's plan to move Anubis. There's good reason to believe they'll be trying to hit the transport as hard as they can."

I hear Morrison curse under his breath. "We're going to need all hands on deck here. I'm going to have to rely on you to do the thinking work here, kid... it's going to be all we can handle mustering the manpower."

"Understood," I answer.

"Morrison out."

The call terminated, and I took a heavy breath. While I'm not sure just how many people Overwatch could bring to the table, it's going to be a rag-tag group going up against a terrorist organization that's been active for years.

Fareeha elbows me in the side, and says, "Actually, if you don't mind, dear... I think _I_ have an idea this time..."


	11. Chapter 11

I didn't terribly like being the "eyes in the sky" for this mission, but Fareeha _did_ make a good point that Booku would be at risk of corruption by Anubis if it took on that role. It also meant that I could hover on the periphery in case I _was_ needed.

Secretly? I think Fareeha just didn't want me in harm's way, and this was as good of a way to make that happen.

Thanks to the Eye, I had up to a hundred different angles to view the scene, both from various security cameras linking to the vehicles of the convoy, both the escort vehicle which ostensibly carried Fareeha's team, and the actual transport, where two more Helix teams were supposed to be standing guard over the portable system that was housing Anubis.

Only one of those three assumptions was correct.

The plan to infiltrate the transports in the garage worked like a charm. Sombra hacked the security cameras, Overwatch members climbed on, and Helix was none the wiser as Anubis and the second security squad entered the transport and were overwhelmed before they even had a chance to sound the alarm.

Fareeha had brought her team up to speed on what was happening, and they were on board. I was a bit surprised that they would turn on their employer so easily until Fareeha had informed me most of them had seen what Anubis could do first hand. They knew _exactly_ what was at stake.

As the two vehicles departed, we began the long wait. The diciest part of this mission was in fact, the first part here. Fareeha had several plans in place, all of them dependent exactly on when Talon made their move, which made getting as much advance warning of Talon's operations were going to be crucial.

I never said my job wasn't _important_ , just not very _active_.

As Egypt wasn't formally a part of the League of African Nations yet, any assistance from that alliance could only legally happen once we crossed the border between Egypt and the Central Sahara Republic. If Talon attacked here, any support would have to come from an Egyptian Army that had seen better days.

Not that Central Sahara could offer much on such short notice, as they did not have a particularly large standing army, much less currently on active duty. But there would at least be backup support for any clean up that needed doing.

Morocco has a stronger military presence, but moving it across the desert would take time we didn't have, and our path isn't going to take us anywhere near the Moroccan border for obvious reasons.

Overwatch is going to have to carry the bulk of the weight on their own. God, I hope they're up to it.

Satellite imagery isn't showing anything beyond normal traffic for an early morning, much less the sort of numbers that would be needed to think about attacking armored vehicles and their armed personnel. Talon was surprisingly not much for subterfuge... they attacked quickly and in numbers.

When they did act subversively, it was largely the two man team of Widowmaker and Reaper, with Sombra tagging along recently, and only on stationary targets that they could properly stake out. Regardless, Fareeha has "Operation 6" prepared for that scenario, and "Operation 7" ready in case Sombra turns on us.

Let no one say my dear lady is not thorough.

Chatter is non-existent, which surprises me. I know for a fact many of Overwatch's current roster didn't have much organized combat experience, so to see them all dialed into the task at hand without getting distracted despite what is a _very_ boring start of the transit is encouraging. I at least expected Lucio to start fanboying over D'Va. That man has been head over heels for that young woman for about a year.

Hell, I wouldn't be surprised to learn he accepted probationary status just for the chance to be in the same room with her.

Then I catch the royal blue glimmer of the distinctive Raptora armor on another screen to my left, and remind myself that I have _no_ room to judge. It _is_ kinda easy to forget how much of this started because I rushed off to be a hero for a girl I had met for all of roughly three hours.

"Any signs of movement from Talon?" Fareeha asks me.

I give all my current feeds another look over, and find nothing. "Not yet."

"Good. The closer we get to the border, the better the odds of everything else falling into place."

I definitely agree on that matter. The fewer variables, the better.

Our suspicion of where Talon would attempt to strike was right at the border. We _have_ to stop at that point, as again Egypt was not formally a member of the LAN, where paperwork would be examined and our cargo confirmed.

It was logical, and as I was able to hack into the security displays for the border patrol, it was a logic that I was able to confirm. I had become fairly familiar with the guards for this particular outpost, as well as their general schedules. So seeing two very large men manning the gate rather than a slight man and heavyset woman at this time of day was an immediate clue.

Another hint was five armored vehicles pulling into the guard station, a building that really wasn't designed for more than two at most, which judging from infrared suggested was packed to the brim with people. Either Egypt was making a significant border buildup with military they didn't have, or this was where Talon was making its strike.

"Lo... I mean... Faree... I mean _Pharah_..." I just about broke professionalism _twice_ merely trying to address the woman in charge. Jesus, have mercy on me. "Got 'em. As you thought, they're set up at the border. Both guards at the front and at least a hundred in APVs just behind."

"Understood," she answered before opening a channel to all personnel. "We have confirmation. Proceed with Operation 1."

Lucio piped up. I knew he wouldn't be able to go the whole time without a joke. "Uhh... which one is that again?"

"You're not funny, Lucio," Fareeha dismissed. "Stop trying."

"Cold as ice."

Fareeha surprisingly, didn't let it go. "Oh, I think your friend Doomfist can vouch _that_ isn't the slightest bit true."

I can hear a smattering of chuckles filter through the agents. So much for professionalism.

But Fareeha switched quickly back to business. "ETA is ten minutes to the border. Everyone be locked, loaded, and ready."

As we got closer, I was able to patch into Talon's short range communications, something even more handy than visual confirmation. I discovered that they knew we were coming.

"Be ready for anything," Reaper orders. "We don't know exactly how Overwatch is involved. No full engagement until they play their cards. Disable the drivers of the lead vehicle, and approach the transport with numbers. Don't attack until we confirm Anubis is there."

I relay those findings to Fareeha, and I can hear the smile in her voice. "Excellent. They aren't even certain this convoy is a ruse. Very good indeed. Saleh, Tariq, set the autopilot and get your decoys ready. Once clear, get back in position and move out on my order."

The next ten minutes were the longest of my life. For the first time, I felt like a part of something just a little bit bigger than myself, and all the anticipation and nerves that came with it. For all the things I had supposedly done before this... if I failed, I could brush myself off and try again tomorrow. If we fail right now... there might not _be_ a tomorrow.

"Doomfist, I have to pull of the road here," my driver, a remarkably young agent named Kimiko, tells me.

I nod in confirmation as she flips on the emergency signal and eases off the freeway. We're supposed to keep our distance from the carnage so that I have the peace and quiet to maintain surveillance, and we suspect there's not going to be much movement on this freeway in the very near future.

My focus is completely on a feed from the border tower as the lead vehicle of the Helix convoy stops three meters from the checkpoint. The two "guards" don't even pretend to keep up appearances. They walk one to each side, draw sidearms, and shoot the decoy Tariq and Saleh in the head.

At the same time, two of the APV's open and at least sixty Talon agents move in on the transport vehicle. As much as I want those agents to get as close as they can, I can't let the "guards" move on the back of the escort vehicle. So when those two men start rounding to the back of the escort, I make the call.

"Go! Hit 'em now! They'll be at your ten o'clock!"

Fareeha adds, "Saleh! Tariq! Move! Top speed to Checkpoint A!"

From the transport vehicle, Lucio leads off the festivities like a true DJ.

"Aww, let's break it down!"

His sonic wave blows off the walls of the transport while putting up a barrier around the Overwatch members who quickly go on the attack. Even if the Talon forces were "ready for anything," they certainly look like they were taken by surprise, immediately falling back and ordering for the rest of their forces to move in.

And that's when Saleh and Tariq used the chaos to accelerate straight through the border gate and into Central Sahara territory.

Reaper immediately saw the break, and ordered, "It's in the lead truck! Widowmaker, with me! Everyone else, deal with our friends by any means necessary!"

The last APV emptied and then took off after Helix's escort vehicle. I passed on the information I gleaned. "Reaper and Widowmaker are in pursuit."

Again, Fareeha sounded almost giddy. "Excellent. _Exactly_ how I had hoped."

Morrison cut into the conversation. "He's playing this like I'm in charge."

"Which is _exactly_ what I was hoping he would do," Fareeha answers confidently.

The old soldier grunted, and acknowledged begrudgingly, "You kids might just pull this off yet."

I can't let myself get too high on the praise, as I notice a potential danger bubbling up. Talon had Overwatch outnumbered at least four to one, and that number advantage was starting to show. "Mercy! You're getting too far behind the main line!"

The medic is working her biotic magic on two agents who had taken fire. "I'm aware. But we have injured, and I'm not leaving them!"

"You won't be leaving at all if you get flanked by that Talon group that broke off and is circling around!"

Mercy _finally_ realizes the group of five coming in from her north. "Scheisse!" she curses, drawing her blaster, even though I doubted that sidearm was going to be able to overcome the numbers game.

Which is why it is probably fortunate that an armored, katana-wielding man seems to materialize in the path, expertly deflecting the first volley of fire, and counterattacking with another flash. The camera view couldn't even _hope_ to keep up as the man dropped all five attackers before any of them could even turn to face him.

Once he stopped, expertly returning the katana to its sheath on his back, I was finally able to identify him.

So did Mercy. "Genji! You made it!" she says breathlessly, though I'm guessing out of relief than how it sounded to _my_ ears. "It seems you have saved _my_ life this time."

He looks over his shoulder back at her. "It will take many more such times before I can hope to consider the score even, Angela."

Mercy gives him a smile, and it looks that was about to be the end of it until the arrival of _more_ Talon agents from the northwest. Clearly, they aren't exactly proponents of the Geneva Conventions pertaining to medics.

Not that the second group of six fare any better. A Japanese war cry that I couldn't even hope to _pronounce_ , much less _replicate_ in any faithfulness, cuts into the audio, and a pair of blue ghostly dragons swallows up the cadre, leaving literally nothing but smoking wisps in its wake.

Well... okay then. That was probably one of the most unusual things I have seen, and this is coming from a man who knows a hyper-intelligent gorilla with a lightning gun.

I have no idea who this archaic looking archer is. Mercy and Genji seem to however. "Hanzo?" Mercy asks.

Hanzo doesn't seem terribly impressed by what he is seeing. "So _this_ is the 'Overwatch' I heard you joined, brother." Then he appraises Mercy, and adds, "And I see you are still fraternizing with the woman that got you in trouble in the first place."

Genji doesn't seem to think this Hanzo character is entirely friendly, judging from the way his hand drifts to the sword on his hip. "Why are you here, brother?"

Hanzo holds up a finger, then whips around to fire an arrow straight through the helmet of a Talon attacker who apparently didn't think the remains of eleven of his allies was enough of a deterrent. "I had given it some thought like you asked," Hanzo finally replies. "You may be foolish, but perhaps your hope is not. I would seek to try... and be more than I am."

Genji claps Hanzo on the shoulder, "And I will try to help you. Here is a good place to start."

"I can see that."

"Well, if we are all at peace with each other," Mercy suggests, "Perhaps you can cover me while I get back to healing the wounded?"

Hanzo juts a thumb in her direction. "I still do not like that woman. She is a seductress and a filthy mind."

I honestly don't know how _any_ man could have a problem with that... but that's just me. I don't have any more time to think on it either. An alert informs me that Reaper and Widowmaker are closing fast on the Helix escort vehicle.

Exactly like Fareeha wants.

A upper hatch opens, and Reaper climbs out. He looks down again, and says, "How many?"

Widowmaker pops her head up, her visor snapped down over her eyes. "Four. Pharah is the closest, in the rear. One in the middle section, and two in the front."

"I'm going in. Bring up the shields," He orders. "We've got company incoming, and I'm betting it's Ana."

I grin. He's betting wrong.

Reaper teleports to the top of the escort vehicle as a large metal panel rises up out of the side of his APV, no doubt to serve as sniper cover, then rolls downward, using his momentum to kick in the rear doors and jump in.

I switch feeds to the escort interior to get a better look as Reaper makes his move, grabbing his victim by the neck. "You shouldn't bring a rocket launcher into close quarter combat," he taunts before spinning her around with his shotgun ready.

Her helmet falls off as he does so, which isn't terribly surprising, because while Satya fit well enough in Pharah's backup armor... it wasn't exactly a perfect fit.

"Unfortunately for you," Satya informs with a triumphant grin. "I didn't."

And that when she whistled, and her turrets, mounted on the rear side of the transport's frame, came to life.

Reaper tried to issue a warning, "Widowmaker! It's not PhaaAAAAAAAAAGH!"

He went into Wraith form to break free of the turret's targeting, again exactly as Fareeha expected towards the partition that had been set up in the cargo section of the vehicle, no doubt to try and expose Anubis to a sniper shot.

Instead, the door slams inward just as Reaper coalesces. Having just used his gaseous escape ability, he wasn't able to defend himself from Ana's sleep dart that hit him right in the chest.

"Now, girl!" Ana shouted to Satya. "The inhibitor!"

Satya complied, pulling a syringe from one of her belt packs, and jabbing it into Reaper's neck. Mercy had apparently developed it to counter Reaper's unique abilities. Hopefully it would work as advertised. No doubt it would have to be consistently administered... but one hurdle at a time.

As for Widowmaker, while the APV's armoring might have been effective at stopping Ana's counter-sniper fire, it wasn't so good at stopping a _rocket_ from completely knocking it over. A rocket courtesy of my dear Fareeha, who was leaning out the open driver's side door of my McLaren. She jumps out of the vehicle, in flight instantly as she makes for the disabled vehicle.

I hope she engaged the autopilot. While I have a lot of money, that vehicle with all its various modifications would _not_ be cheap to replace.

Widowmaker recovered remarkably quickly considering she had been forcefully ejected from an armored vehicle traveling at roughly half the speed of sound. But for all the reasons that a rocket launcher isn't very good in close quarters, it is _wonderful_ in an open field skirmish with a sniper.

Because while a sniper round has to hit with pinpoint precision, a rocket merely doesn't have to miss too badly. Which Fareeha's next shot manages to do, hitting maybe a meter in front of Widowmaker's feet as the sniper tries to gain a bead. The shockwave tosses her much like a discarded piece of paper and deposits her not at all gently into Sahara sand that might as well have been concrete at the speed Widowmaker was moving.

And yet, the sniper _still_ wasn't out. Widowmaker pushed herself up to her hands and knees, and started crawling to her rifle, reaching out to the weapon just as Fareeha landed, crushing the weapon with the heel of her boot.

From there, Fareeha kicked Widowmaker in the ribs, causing the sniper to roll onto her back, where Fareeha's next step pinned the sniper firmly on her neck. Fareeha then pointed her wrist mounted concussive blaster at her foe's face.

"Do you know who I am?" She asks.

Widowmaker gurgles something that not even Fareeha's audio feed could pick up.

"I am Fareeha Amari. Does the name sound familiar?"

The sniper's eyes widen.

"My people have a saying, 'An eye for an eye.' And if I were you, I'd be _very_ scared."

I hear the sound of military vehicles, and follow Fareeha's line of sight to identify the support personnel from the Central Sahara Republic.

And then Fareeha stands down, taking her boot off Widowmaker's neck and stepping back to allow the authorities to take her _and_ Reaper into custody. "Feel fortunate I am _not_ you."

* * *

I lean back in my seat. I hadn't taken part in that skirmish at all, and yet I feel exhausted. I spin around towards the rear, and ask, "Sombra... how's Anubis?"

She looks up from the storage unit that had been put on a closed connection in order to transfer the God AI, confident that she'd be able to keep it locked down despite the additional connection for Anubis to potentially exploit. She smiles, and brags, "Sleeping like a little bebe."

I hear the rush of something overhead, following the path until I can see one of Overwatch's Orca transports slowly lowering just off the freeway. "Good. Because there's our ride. Kimiko, let's go."

"Yes, sir," the girl answers, driving to the transport as the ramp quickly lowers to allow us access.

A smiling Morrison appears at the top of the ramp as we drive past in our unmarked van. Even for an Orca craft, it's a pretty tight fit, close enough for me to hear the old soldier say, "Good work, kids. Ya did a bang up job."


	12. Chapter 12

_Author's Note: Good news for all of you... I think there's just more chapter of this to slog through._

* * *

This last year has been hectic to say the least... but the payoff is going to be so very worth it.

I'm specifically waiting for two "guests of honor," and with the military precision that came with their backgrounds, they arrive exactly fifteen minutes before I requested them to. Fareeha is the same way, so I've taken to adding fifteen minutes to whatever time I need her to arrive, and that policy worked out beautifully in this case.

Morrison and Ana definitely did _not_ like their limo ride to the Parliamentary Assembly Hall in Numbani, probably because they were all dressed up in finery that they were no doubt unaccustomed to. Not that they didn't cut impressive figures in a tuxedo and evening dress respectively. They certainly cleaned up nice, despite the battle scars.

"Been a while since I've been in one of those," Morrison comments as he shakes my hand. "Of course, the last time was followed by Overwatch literally blowing up a week later. So... we might be a little triggered."

"Why are we even here?" Ana grumps as she ignored the same gesture, her head on a swivel for any sign of treachery.

"All I know is that Prime Minister Udubu wants you present for this address of the General Assembly, and that he believes you trust me enough to be your escort. I'm afraid he has not told me why."

That is a bald-faced lie. I know _exactly_ why Esi wants them present. I just don't want _them_ to know it yet.

"Come this way, and don't fret any. You won't be in the main audience or even among the Assembly. You'll be comfortably tucked away offstage, presuming the Prime Minister doesn't call you up."

Ana changes the subject as I escort them into the VIP entrance of the theatre. "How is my daughter? She hasn't spoken to me much lately."

"Oh, she's been very busy in her new position," I answer. That much is true. She's been serving as Director of Security to the General Assembly, a _very_ prestigious position that Ana had found more than suitable for her daughter. "She barely has time for _me_ as of late." That was another glorious lie. If anything, _I_ was the one that was suffering from too few hours in the day.

Seats were reserved for us exactly where I said, where a red curtain blocked view of the audience yet gave us perfect line of sight to see the podium from which Esi would soon be speaking. I also pointed out a flat screen display just to the right of our seats that would allow us to see from the viewpoint of the Assembly itself.

The Speaker of the Assembly had just finished his speech, and that left only Esi to give the State of the Republic Address. The man was noted for many things, but especially two when it came to his speeches. First, he could talk. Second, he could talk for a _long_ time. I have to nudge Ana twice to keep her from nodding off, though she doesn't appreciate either.

I really can't blame either her or Morrison's disinterest. I'm a citizen of Morocco, and even I can't say I'm that enthused about the speech on domestic issues thus far. About the only thing so far that intrigues me is the announcement of a trade agreement with the Arabian Peninsula and the city of Oasis in particular.

But Ana's attention finally gets snagged once Esi finally shifts to international issues... at least for a while.

"I am pleased to say that after much deliberation on the part of the seventeen nations that comprise our League of African Nations, a consensus was reached. Our prodigal brethren of Egypt are finally of the fold, creating a united continent for the first time in over fifty years."

"I had heard that was happening," Ana remarked quietly, even though due to the acoustics in this section of the theater she could have _shouted_ and not been heard. "Glad that my country's lack of wealth didn't prove to be an insurmountable hurdle."

Esi continued, "In regards to reports that we required Egypt to renounce their membership in the United Nations, that is not true. The country of Egypt is free to continue their status within the UN, and we will _never_ regard that as a stipulation for unity within Africa. Alliances and partnerships with other nations will _never_ make us weaker, only stronger."

Ana's eyes widened slightly. " _That_ is a surprise, though."

"The LAN sees this as an opportunity to bridge the divide between Africa and the UN," I offer. "They think Egypt can serve as an intermediary during times of tension, and I suspect the UN feels the same way. The LAN Consulate is going to construct their building directly across from the UN Consulate in Cairo, in fact, feeling that genial discourse is easier when you're just a pedestrian crossing away."

"Whether that proves true or not is another matter," Morrison replies cynically.

Esi shifted around the blank pages of paper he had put together on the podium. He had a display on said podium that provided him with his speech and talking points, of course, but claimed that having the paper, even if blank, gave the impression of a man who had assembled his information carefully and thoughtfully.

Probably one of the reasons I'd _never_ be a politician. All these "optics" are things that I simply cannot understand why they matter to people.

"But through all that..." Esi finally states, "There remain irreconcilable divides between us and the rest of the world. This is most notable in the United Nations' continued ignorance and inaction to the threat of the terrorist organization of Talon."

That got Ana and Morrison's ears to perk up. Excellent.

"We are keenly aware as to the threat this movement holds to the stability and peace among humans and omnics. Our Investigator General tied Talon to the riots in Numbani. Talon has also been tied to the raiders in the heart of Africa that make relief and sanctuary for our suffering brothers in the south difficult, providing a festering resentment and recruiting ground for terrorists and their sympathizers."

It's not even an excuse that the rest of the world does not suffer from these attacks on our people and our stability. Talon operates throughout the world, and the world does little, if anything, to curb these transgressions, counting on outgunned and outnumbered local and provincial authorities to suppress the violence."

This... cannot continue. And so the weight of example falls again on us, the people of a free Africa that desires a free world. But we have a solution."

I point to the display, Ana and Morrison's eyes following as a slide show projects onto the field behind Esi.

It starts with a still shot of Overwatch holding the line at the Temple of Unity in Numbani.

"This group is one well known to us. Starting with animosity as they led the first world into Africa at the conclusion of the Omnic Crisis."

Then the next image was Overwatch agents helping distribute aid to the refugees of Cape Town.

"But in the last year and a half, I, and the people of Africa, have seen another side to this paramilitary organization, men and women duly chastised for their hubris and free of the shackles of the UN to act more according to their morals."

A third image, of Overwatch defending Satya from Vishkar agents.

"A group that acts for benefit of a free people, even at no gain to themselves, taking on the fights that we can be blind to... or cannot be capable of responding to quickly enough.

The final shot of Overwatch fighting Talon for control of Anubis.

"Are we honestly surprised that the first world sought to besmirch another once their interests no longer were compatible?" Would it be _that_ unheard of to think that the corporate narratives would shift once the promise of greater wealth wasn't as apparent?"

Then the weighty line, the one that every citizen of Africa could understand and sympathize with. "And when these men and women needed help from those who championed them... are we _honestly_ surprised that the United Nations turned its back?"

I can't help but find the irony in chastising the first world for crafting narratives, while doing exactly that. But this is a narrative that we need. That the entire world needs, even if they don't realize it.

"And so, with a unanimous vote of every member nation, including our new friends in Egypt, I offer sanctuary and legitimacy to the men and women of Overwatch, and offer them a place to do what is right. In exchange, I ask of them... please... help us. Talon can no longer go unchecked. We need your help."

Ana and Morrison's faces at this moment are _priceless_. Their eyes don't want to believe what their ears have just heard. Ana finally turns to me and accuses, "You're responsible for this, aren't you?"

I chuckle, "Partly, yes."

"So why aren't you up there next to all those other people basking in your achievement?" Morrison openly ponders.

"Because it's not my time," I answer smugly. "My presence up there would potentially be seen as a conflict of interest and not terribly becoming I'm sure."

Ana's eyes narrow with suspicion. "And why is _that,_ boy?"

I point back to the screen as Esi is still speaking.

"I also wish to take this time to introduce the first commander of this revived Overwatch unit. Captain Amari, if you could?"

The display pans to the opposite side of the theater, where Fareeha appears at the central entrance, immaculate in the royal purple and gold of a LAN officer; taking perfect, measured strides deliberately to the dais where Esi was waiting. He took a leather bound copy of the League Charter from the Speaker of the Assembly, and held it out as Fareeha dropped her left hand onto the cover and held up her right.

Ana stiffens at the sight, and her hands grip her arm rests to the point her knuckles start turning white. Morrison pats her on the thigh, and says, "Ana... it's the kids' turn. We've had our shot. Let them, and let her, do what she desires."

Meanwhile, Esi asks, "Captain Fareeha Amari, do you swear to uphold the Charter of the League of African Nations, and seek its defense and the good of this world in your duties of command from this moment forth?"

Fareera nodded swiftly, and replied, "I do, and I will."

Esi pulls the book away and declares, "Then I offer congratulations, Strike Commander Pharah."

Fareeha makes a ninety degree turn and snaps a sharp, practiced salute to the Assembly that began a polite applause. Meanwhile Ana shook herself out of her stupor to glare at me.

I head off any line of questioning with my reply. "I will certainly be involved in this revived Overwatch. I had a long talk with Torbjorn last week, in fact, and will be filling his role as primary engineer. He didn't want to uproot his family at this point, nor did he want to walk away from them again for an indeterminate time again. But now you understand why I can't be involved directly with Overwatch's command structure."

I expect Ana to get the hint. She either didn't, or was being willfully obtuse. Morrison sees it now at the very least, as his eyes drift downward to my left hand and he coughs. Helpfully, I start rubbing my neck with said hand to show off the simple platinum band around my ring finger.

Ana's head snaps back to the podium, where Fareeha was taking position to address the assembly, her good eye narrowing on what would have been a similar band on Fareeha's left ring finger, though topped with a small half carat diamond... the largest Fareeha would allow me to splurge on her.

"And _when_ did _that_ happen, boy?" She snarls accusingly.

"Two months ago," I answer. "We didn't want a huge ceremony or anything, as we feared it could be a target for anyone with a grudge. But at the same time, we didn't want to go any longer without a true commitment. So when she filed to begin the process of Moroccan citizenship, we had the Prime Minister here serve as legal witness while we also signed the certificate of marriage. Her father had been visiting, not entirely conveniently, so he served as relation witness."

Ana looks a little hurt that she hadn't been included, but certainly didn't begrudge Fareeha's father from that honor. She crosses her arms and huffs, "I better have a grandchild to spoil within two years, or there will be blood."

I'm going to take that as the closest I'm ever going to get to a blessing from Ana Amari. I shush her attempts to say more, now understanding why that act is so amusing, pointing to her daughter as she begins to speak. Unlike Esi, Fareeha doesn't bring any paper blank or otherwise to the podium. I also know that while the screen on said podium might be scrolling her speech, she wouldn't be looking at it. My newlywed wife had spent the better part of three days _memorizing_ this address just in case something went wrong with the prompter.

Always prepared, never taken by surprise.

I have Booku recording a transcript for posterity, if for any reason than to endlessly tease her about her first public address if she feels it wasn't anything but impeccable.

* * *

 _"Thirty-four years ago, my mother became one of the founding members of an international paramilitary unit brought together in one of humanity's darkest hours to fight what seemed at the time to be a nigh invincible foe._

 _As such, she was absent from my early life almost as much as she was a part of it. When I was five years old, staying with my father outside of Vancouver, British Columbia, I asked him what my mother did that took her away so often._

 _His answer? "Your mother is giving the world hope."_

 _And that was where I decided that one day I would do the same. That I would be a beacon of hope like my mother was. And that is why I am honored and proud to be chosen to lead this revived unit that my mother proudly served. This... is what I feel destined to do and destined to be._

 _I already know what some of the questions will be. Why Overwatch? Why assume the name of something so tarnished? Someone very close to me, when pressed on a similar issue explained that it wouldn't matter, and he was right. No matter what we named this organization, they would know who we are._

 _If we run away from a name, if we retreat from a stigma, how can we be expected to stand up when it truly matters? The men and women of Overwatch held this name close, even as the world spit on them. I could not ask them to abandon the symbol that they hold close to their hearts. I will not._

 _Yes, my mother's Overwatch had fatal flaws. It was, at its core, a unit constructed out of desperation. Those it took on were rushed through vetting processes and granted considerable authority, creating a organization that could not properly shift from making war to preserving peace._

 _I seek the Muslim and Hindu, the Christian and the Shambali and the atheist, the African and the European and the American, the black and the white and every color in between. I seek the human, and even the omnic. I seek a truly diverse membership, as an internal reminder that no matter where we are from, we are all in this together._

 _I envision an Overwatch that exists and acts when called upon, and in the absence of a clear directive, dissolves. For now, that task is the menace that is Talon. They have gone unchecked far too long, and we will rectify that. Upon completion of our purpose, I will be content to dismiss those under my command to live their lives with the peace they have earned, until we are ever needed again._

 _I do not want Overwatch to be the world's police. I want us to be the one that represents my father's words to me, and my mother's actions to a world at the brink of collapse. I want an Overwatch that people can admire again. One that they can be proud of. One that when they see this logo, will know that they will be safe, and they have nothing to fear._

 _I know I have made few promises. I am no fortune teller, nor do I pretend to be. But I will make this one. When the shadows are at their longest, when despair is at its greatest, we will be there. We will bring you hope. And we will not fail."_

* * *

Well, there won't be any opportunity to tease her. That was beautiful, and I jump to my feet clapping furiously, joining the thunderous standing applause the Assembly was giving her.

Morrison grumbles, "Damn if I'm not ready to run through a wall now..." before joining me.

But what no doubt touches Fareeha the most as she looked our way with a broad, happy smile, was the sight of her mother, on her feet and clapping, with tears of pride running down her cheeks. I think Ana Amari finally approves and blesses her daughter's path in life.

Somewhere, I hope my father is wrong about the afterlife, and that he feels the same way about his son.


	13. Chapter 13

Fareeha insists on hearing any and all feedback to her grand entrance onto the world stage.

More accurately, she wants to hear the criticism.

In this case, it is a roundtable discussion from the BBC World Service as we drove to the location of Overwatch's new main compound on the south side of Numbani.

"Three days after the stunning announcement by Prime Minister Esi Udubu on behalf of the League of African Nations to provide legal permission for Overwatch to operate on behalf of the continent's alliance, a _new_ development has occurred," the hostess, a woman named Pamela Billingsley says. "A statement from the United Nations Secretary General, Kaji Nirashima, declaring that all members of the Security Council support a resolution brought by seven members of the General Assembly to allow Overwatch to operate on territory held by all charter nations."

She looks down at the prompter at her position at the head of the table, and says, "The statement, in brief, reads 'if the League of African Nations is willing to accept responsibility for the actions of Overwatch, and the relevant nations are informed with at least twenty-four hours notice, we will suspend the Petras Act to allow Overwatch to operate on territory held by all UN charter nations in the shared goal of curbing the threat of Talon.'"

Then looking up, Billingsley adds, "This is a startling 180 from the stance just last year, which had been adamant that there was no foreseeable reason to even _consider_ overturning the Petras Act."

The first of the panelists is one that apparently Overwatch is familiar with, Olympia Shaw of Atlas News. "Clearly, such a reason emerged. It's a bit of a 'Get Out of Jail Free' card for the UN. Their attempts to curb Talon activity has been disastrous, to put it gently. Now, they can use this organization and not be on the hook if anything goes wrong."

"It's an act of cowardice, you mean," is the rejoinder of Gibraltar Telegraph reporter Armando Vicario. "They're rolling over to the LAN and exposing their belly, giving yet more influence and power to that second-rate facsimile of the UN. We've already been down this road with Overwatch. We already know where it ends. That police state ran out of control, and our world today is worse for it."

"That was something that Strike Commander Amari specifically addressed, though," A third answered, Shelton Graff from the BBC. "She acknowledged the flaws of her predecessors, and presented a much different plan for the organization."

Then the fourth, Alexandre Fetisov from Moscow News adds his take. "So we're just supposed to take the word of this relative of one of the previous failed predecessors? What are her credentials to even _be_ in a position of command? The only thing I know of her is from tabloid press of her prancing about with a man who is _also_ the child of a suspicious character. Does the name _Doomfist_ ring a bell? These are the sort of people we're trusting to fight on our soil?"

"Strike Commander Amari's record is beyond reproach," Shaw counters. "She served with full commendation and honors for several years in the Egyptian Army..."

"An army that is in such sorry state that any honors aren't worth the paper it's printed on."

"Was commended repeatedly as the Chief Specialist for Helix Security International..."

"You mean the company that is being sued and several key executives incarcerated for endangering the public good?"

"Which the Strike Commander _herself_ brought to light," Graff interjects. "Speaking tremendously to her character that she was willing to sacrifice her entire livelihood to do the right thing."

Vicario snorts, "If falling upwards into a posh cabinet position in the League of African Nations is your definition of 'sacrifice', I'm not sure I want to know what you consider 'deserved accolades.' Those who refuse to learn from history are doomed to repeat it. This woman _claims_ that she'll run things differently, yet the man she answers to offered immediate sanctuary to _any_ former member of Overwatch. You call that vetting?"

"Sanctuary, not inherently membership," Billingsley moderated. "They _are_ two different things."

Shaw says, "Prime Minister Udubu says Strike Commander Amari has full control over Overwatch's roster, and the Strike Commander has already said that this will _not_ simply be old men and women trying to relive their glory days. Recruiting is open for anyone who can demonstrate competency, and I know for a fact that she is accepting resumes from _anyone_ , including several specialists from the USA and Canada that I've seen personally."

"But you can't deny that the initial weight is going to be carried by a lot of members who had been present for the first Overwatch's fall," Vicario replies. "Pardon if there is some skepticism that new blood will rule the day until we actually see it. Until then, I don't see how it is unreasonable to be suspicious that this incarnation of Overwatch will be any better than the first."

Billingsley cut in reading off her prompter again. "Do beg your pardon, lady and gentlemen. Recent polling by the BBC World Service reports that public sentiment is as evenly divided as our panel here today, with 46% in favor of the supension of the Petras Act, 43% opposed, and 11% undecided."

I turn off the display, and Fareeha glares at me. I point outside her window and say, "We're here."

"Oh," she replies, tapping the unlock tab on her McLaren, and popping the drivers side door open.

Yes, I bought one for her and gave it the same modifications as mine. Girl won't let me buy her a ring more than two thousand credits, but has _no_ problems whatsoever with me dropping over two _million_ credits on a souped up car.

I side up to her as we approach the main gate. The LAN guard stationed at the checkpoint lets us through after we flash our IDs. Fareeha shakes her head, and says, "And to think this Helix building is going to come to some use after all."

"Not like Helix is able to use it," I answer with a sly grin. "What with their corporation banned from business in the LAN and several of their Cairo executives waiting trial for transporting 'dangerous materials' that endangered the citizens of several countries."

"I understand that those trials will need to be closed to the public," Fareeha groans as she rubs her forehead, "But it's not going to help our standing with the citizens of the world that all those trials will be under permanent seal."

"Better for some people to distrust us than for the entire world to fear an abrupt omnic uprising," I remind her. "The day may come where we will _have_ to inform them, but until we can rule out any solution, it's best in this case for the public to remain uninformed."

"I know..." she sighs, tapping in her code on the keypad to unlock the entry door. "Now let's see just who has answered the call, shall we?"

Fareeha's referring to her confirmation of LAN edict of sanctuary where she informed members of Overwatch to report today for the first time in their new home. She laughs airily, and adds, "How awkward would it be if we go into the training yard, and it's empty?"

"I highly doubt that would ever happen," I answer, detecting Fareeha's subtle uncertainty.

The veneer drops as our eyes adjust to the lower light in the hall, and for the first time in a very long time, she sounds vulnerable. "I'm not Morrison. How much of Overwatch's support was out of dedication to him and his ideals rather than the organization?"

I point to the end of that hall, where there was light leaking out from the training yard. "Well, it looks like _someone_ is there. Let's find out who."

She _had_ to know she was being silly. The idea that she would be rejected by the people who have _already_ followed her lead willingly was preposterous. But it wasn't until she turned that corner into the training yard, and saw over two hundred faces waiting for her did the worry finally dissolve from her brow.

Tracer hopped to her feet, and cheered, "There they are!" Then with a flash, the girl had wedged between us, an arm over each of our shoulders. "We were beginning to think the two of you were sneaking a nooner in or something."

I cringe, and Fareeha gives Tracer a side-eye. "Did you _always_ treat your commanding officers with such disrespect?"

Tracer grins. "Yep!"

"Well, that is going to change, am I clear?"

The british girl steps back swiftly, and snaps to attention with a salute. "Yes, ma'am!"

Lucio steps forward, offering a handshake saying, "It's good to see ya here, Commander. I hope you don't mind me dropping in."

"Not at all, Lucio," Pharah replied, taking the gesture, "Though in the future, I would strongly recommend you learn to salute."

The DJ grins nervously. "Uhhhh... sure!"

From the periphery, a voice says softly, "This woman commands respect and discipline. I think I like her."

Fareeha's head turns to the source of the voice, standing next to Genji and a Shambali omnic that looks vaguely familiar to me. She points at Genji and says, "I know you. The two with you I do not. I do not believe they were members before, am I correct?"

Genji stammers, "N... no. This is my brother Hanzo, and my mentor Zenyatta. I can vouch for them."

Fareeha then remembers the omnic, as do I, but she lets it slide in regards to more pertinent matters, "While that certainly helps, I expect them to follow the same policy as anyone else seeking recruitment for the first time. They are welcome to stay today, but tomorrow I expect them to have the proper documentation and I will interview them personally."

Genji seems to regard Hanzo nervously, like he doesn't know how his brother will respond to this. He then seems relieved when Hanzo laughs, "And values order. Indeed, I like this commander of yours!"

"Whatever you require of us, we will provide it with no unnecessary delay," Zenyatta assures.

"Good."

Fareeha was then quickly snatched up in a crushing bear hug that forces the wind out of her lungs judging from the "hoof" that escapes her lips followed by a breathless gasp of "I did not forget you, Reinhardt. It would be very hard to overlook you."

"Hah!" the German man laughed, "I remember a day when you barely came up to my knee, and now look at you! This is a glorious day!"

She slips out of his embrace, and smiles. "I'm glad to see the enthusiasm." Then she regarded the group that are assembled, and calls out, "Saleh?"

Her faithful lieutenant steps forward, and salutes, "Yes, ma'am?"

"You are the most familiar with what I expect of my team, so if only for the moment, you will serve your familiar role here as my field lieutenant. I will be counting on you."

"Yes, ma'am!"

A beat of an eyelash later, a door on the west wall swings inward, followed by Mercy and Winston stepping inside. They both salute, and Winston says, "Apologies for my lateness. When I heard you arrived, I made as quick of time as I was able, Commander."

Fareeha goes to them, patting Winston on the shoulder comfortingly, "You have much to do and prepare, Winston. I do not fault you for that. Has Tariq reported in?"

Winston nods amiably, "Oh yes, ma'am. Someone with recent expertise with the God AI programs and how they function will be _invaluable_ , I assure you. He's a very bright young man, and I think both Overwatch and him will be served greatly with his presence."

"Very good," Fareeha agrees. "Because I will not pretend you do not have an essential job here. We need a solution, Winston. Millions, if not _billions_ , of lives depend on it, and we've lost so much time already."

Winston's head drops forlornly, "I know. Keenly. I promise you, every second I spare will be spent solving this conundrum."

"That's all I can ask, thank you so very much, Winston." She then turns to Mercy, and admits, "I am... surprised to see you here, Doctor. I know how strained your relationship with Overwatch became in its final days."

Mercy grins, and takes Fareeha's right arm. "We... all watched you, did you know that?"

"No," Fareeha admits, though she looks understandably confused by the relevance.

"It's why we kept our distance. We _all_ watched you. Watched you grow, watched you mature... and watched you succeed. We were all _so_ very proud of you. We are, almost entirely, here because of _you._ If you had not been put in command... I, and a good many of us, would _not_ be here. We have faith you will lead us down the right path."

It's almost like Mercy was reading Fareeha's mind and directly addressing her concerns. "Thank you, I will do everything I can not to fail that trust."

A security agent stepped inside the training yard, and asks, "Commander Pharah?"

Fareeha instantly spun about, and replies, "Yes, Private?"

"Commander Morrison and Lieutenant Amari are at the gate. We were prepared to let them in, but Commander Morrison insisted we clear it with you before we allowed them inside."

Fareeha laughs and shakes her head. "Of course he did. Yes, absolutely let them enter. Escort them here to the training yard if they don't know the way."

I could _feel_ the anticipation in the vast space, which turns into cheers and clapping when Morrison and Ana turned the corner and stepped into the yard.

Tracer hugged him happily, and chirps, "Does this mean you're joining up too?"

Damn it, Tracer. Just had to point at the massive elephant in the room, didn't you?

Mercifully, Morrison is a smart man. "Sorry, Tracer, but that probably wouldn't be wise. This old man has his own wars to fight."

Beautiful deflection. It would be very smart to avoid a "too many cooks" scenario. Even if Morrison were to defer to every command decision Fareeha made, just his presence would potentially undermine that authority. The men and women here would _naturally_ look towards him for leadership, even if they meant no disrespect to Fareeha in doing so, especially the veterans whose support Fareeha will need until she has the organization shaped in the direction she wants it.

He then offers a half-cocked smile to Fareeha as she closes the distance, and offers, "That said, if the Commander ever needs advice, or a part-time gun..."

"You will _always_ be welcome here, Commander," Fareeha interrupts. "And you may regret that offer now that you've made it."

He chuckles, before addressing the assembled agents. "I see a lot of old faces in front of me... but I see a lot of _new_ faces too. That's good. You kids are the future, not just of Overwatch, but this entire world. I want you old-timers to know that and respect that. Offer your guidance, offer your help, but at the end of the day, you're all going to have to recognize that point where you need to step aside."

He turns his head to Fareeha. "And that's why I'm here. Because it's that time for me. Pharah, I can safely say you are far more ready for this than I ever was. You were damn near _born_ for this moment, _raised_ for this moment, no matter what this old woman behind me might say."

Ana huffs grumpily in response, arms crossed and glaring.

While he doesn't look away, his next words project to everyone. "You're going to do great. All of you are. A hell of a lot better than us old folks did, that's for sure."

Ana huffs again, then wedges herself between Morrison and Fareeha. She then throws her arms around her daughter and hugs her. "No matter _what_ you had chosen to do, I would have been proud of you. And as much as I never wanted you to follow my path in life, you will succeed. You will stop Talon where we could not. Because I don't think you know _how_ to fail."

I quietly slip out rather than interrupt, because I _also_ have somewhere I need to be. Two floors up, overlooking the training yard, also known as the engineering lab and observation deck.

"Ah, you've made it," Booku declares, looking up from the central server that he was observing.

I sigh sheepishly. "Sorry. Traffic was heavier than I planned for, and then I got distracted with events down below."

"Torbjorn has just released and transferred all information he had and was able to salvage from Overwatch's old servers."

"Excellent. Let's see them."

Schematics, designs, technical documents, starting popping up on the holographic display in the center of the lab, mixing in with data we had... borrowed over the years from Helix, Vishkar, and other relevant corporations.

Then it all vanishes in a poof, replaced by a display of Sombra.

"Hola, Doomfist!" she says, but before I can say anything, she's continued on, "Don't worry... nothing's been compromised... this is a prerecorded message I've dropped into your server because I really haven't had an opportunity to contact you securely. I wanted... to thank you for trusting me. Your father and my aunt and uncle had a good working relationship. I'd... like to have something similar someday. So, whenever I find something interesting or I think is important, I'm gonna shove it your way. Sound good? I hope so! Adios!"

The message ended, Sombra disappeared, and the original display was restored with no signs of tampering. Truth be told, I know the utility now in Sombra's possession. _No_ security was safe from her, and I'm not going to waste time worrying about locking down what can no longer be locked.

Hopefully, she'll be doing good with it.

Another voice popped up behind me. "Commander Doomfist?"

I turn to see a pale complexioned girl with limp, light brown hair offer an unpracticed salute, shuffling uncomfortably in the formal Overwatch uniform.

She then offers her hand, and introduces herself. "I'm Brigitte. I mean, Private Stuttengard. I'm a mechanic that has been working with Reinhardt's armor. Symmetra told me to put my paperwork on your desk, so... that's where it is?"

"Good morning, Brigitte. Glad to have you on board," I reply with a disarming smile. "I'm not _quite_ as much of stickler to protocol as the Strike Commander is, so don't worry terribly much about ranks and proper address when it's just us engineers in here."

Brigitte tugs at the tight collar of her uniform. "Does the same go for this?"

"It may, but I would warn you that the Strike Commander has a _very_ different opinion on that score, so I'd recommend getting used to proper dress until you hit the agent ranks."

She stops fidgeting, and moans in surrender, "Understood."

"Yes, we wouldn't want to reflect badly on the commander here," Satya teases as she enters the observation deck from the western wing of the lab. "While I'm sure he has a more than comfortable couch, I doubt he wants to sleep on it more than he has to."

I glare at her disapprovingly... even though she's not wrong.

Athena has apparently finished downloading to her new location as well, as the AI provides, "The Strike Commander and the Engineering Commander are married, Private. In case you didn't get the joke."

Brigitte's mouth forms an "o" shape, and I grumble, " _Thank you_ , Athena..."

Then Fareeha's voice over the intercom cuts through the chatter. "Commander, how are things up there?"

I regard my surroundings and immediate co-workers, then reply, "About as well as they could be."

"Think we're ready for our first training simulations?"

Satya replies, "Everything's good on my end, Strike Commander. The only thing we might have to wait for is Athena to compile the data."

"I have seven scenarios ready, Strike Commander Pharah," Athena says, "Is there any particular one you would prefer to start with?"

"No."

I cut in, offering, "Sa... Symmetra, why don't you pick one? You have a better understanding of what you've put together than any of us, I'm sure."

Satya moves to a console on the observation deck where we'll be able to get a good look of everything going on below. "Yes... I think I have a good one ready..."

As hard light columns begin to fashion the framework that would fill the roughly two kilometer square training yard, Athena confirms the selection. "Now loading... King's Row..."

 **THE END**

* * *

 _Author's Note: Oi. Finally done with this. Talk about a stream of consciousness writing experiment gone out of control. This is why I generally don't free write my stuff. But now you all know, and why there's some really rough spots here and there. Welcome to how my editor feels when he has to fight through my first drafts._


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